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I. 






DIVORCE, 


BY 


MARGARET LEE. 

M 

AUTHOR OP DOCTOR WILMER’S LOVE,” “LIZZIE ADRIANCE,” &G 





New York : 

} JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

( 

( 14 & 16 Vesey Street. 





TZ-5 






copyright, 18S2, 

BY 

JOHN W. rOYEHH CO 



.) 

/ 


DIVOKCE. 


I. 

“ Beyond is all Abyss.” 

MILTON, 

When Constance Morgan’s engagement to Mr. 
lilbert Travers was formally announced, it became 
pet subject of conversation among lier relatives 
id friends as often as two or more of them met to- 
;ther. Each Sunday was an occasion for a general 
mily gathering at the house of Mrs. Morgan, 
instance’s grandmother, and in her large, old- 
hioned parlors all matters concerning the welfare 
her children and grand-children received due at- 
tion. Only near relations being present, opinions 
•e apt to be openly expressed, and fears, hopes 


2 


DIVOBCE. 


and propliecies to be thoughtlessly put into words. 
One Sunday evening in May it happened that 'the 
house was unusually full of people. Mrs. Morgan 
had been very ill for some days and as if by general 
consent nearly all her children came to inquire for 
her and visit her at t’ -e same time. It was not pru- 
dent to remain long hi the invalid’s room, but there 
was no limit to staying in the parlors and dining- 
room, and there, li' de knots of men and women 
talked over a week’s news and finally reached the 
coming family event, Constance’s marriage. 

“ It is quite close now,” said Mrs. Lacy. “ The 
fifteenth of next month. I wonder if mother will be 
strong enough to go to the church !” 

“ Of course she will,” said Mr. Lacy. “ This at- 
tack is not a serious thing. I’ll be glad when the 
other affair is over !” 

‘‘ I won’t !” said Mrs. Parker, one of his sisters-in- 
law. “ A wedding is not such an every-day affair, 
and this is going to be a very nice one indeed. I 
am enjoying the preparations for it so much that I 
dread the ceremony because that really ends all the 
pleasure ; of course, I mean for the guests and rela- 
tives 

“ I understand you perfectly, Lizzie ; the presents 
will be made, the. new dresses worn and seen by 


DIVORCE. 


3 


Mrs. Grundy, the excitement will be nearly over, 
and then comes fatigue. The re-action sets in. 
There are bills to be paid, and you begin to doubt 
whether the wedding was a right thing after all ” — 

“ Oh Frank !” cried Mrs. , Lacy, with a warning 
glance at her husband’s earnest face. 

“ Go on !” called out Mr. G]is. Morgan from his 
corner of a distant sofa. “ Npt one of the parties 
to the marriage is here, so sa^f your say. I often 
wonder if some of us think alike about this coming 
event.” 

There was a dead silence for several seconds after 
tliis odd remark, and in the interval, glances were 
interchanged as if true opinions could be read in 
features rather than heard in words. 

Miss Alice Morgan laughed vaguely and answered 
her brother Gus. 


‘‘ Marriage is a lottery, you know, Gus. Con. is 


in love, and I am sure Mr. Travers is unexception 
able. What more can you ask ?” 

“ I never could agree to that lottery simile,” said 
Mr. Parker, joining the group. ‘‘ Marriage is ex- ' 
actly what the two most concerned make of it, and 
that depends on their conception of what it means. 
The truth is, Constance is too young to marry, 
much too young.” 


A 


4 


DIVORCE. 


“ You are right said Mr. Lacy, the words sound- 
ing emphatic in the midst of a chorus of interjec- 
tions. 

“ She is eighteen,” said Mrs. Gus. Morgan, who 
had married at seventeen. 

‘‘ Yes, but she is a ]3eculiar girl,” said Mr. Lacy. 

“ Frank is a great man for studying character,” 
said his vdfe, her tone satirical, her eyes full of ad- 
miration. “He fancies that Con. is an unusual 
specimen of the sex. I think she is just like other 
girls of eighteen. Of course she has had no experi- 
ence, but that may be all the better for her, she can 
not draw comparisons to the disadvantage of Mr. 
Travers, as he is her first and only love. He is per- 
fection in her eyes and he can stay on his pedestal 
if he wishes and that will insure Con’s, happiness.” 

“ Stay on the pedestal that a woman with a soul 
erects ? I wonder how many of us could do it even 
if we bent all our energies to the work !” Mr. Lacy 
shook his head. “ There is the whole trouble in a 
nutshell. Con. has no experience ; years count for 
nothing with a temperament like hers. She loves a 
man, she has an ideal, she thinks he fulfills it and 
slie marries him under that illusion. Now, she is 
going to be a very happy woman or a very wetched 
one ; there will be no medium for her.” 


DIVOECE. 


5 


'‘You are yerj just I think in your estimate of 
Constance,” said Mr. Gus. Morgan, “ I only wish 
that her own mother took as much interest in her 
character as you do, but you know characters are 
sealed orders to our sister Jessie. She is a very 
shallow woman. I often wonder why John married 
her.” 

“ That is a common subject of wonder among 
brothers and sisters,” said Mr. Lacy, laughing. 
"Jessie Morgan just lacked the balance to rise 
above v/orldliness. Wealth was too much for her. ' 
So long as your brother was in moderate circum- 
stances Jessie was a very efficient vdfe, money 
turned her brain. She caught the society fever. It 
is a disease, the worst a woman can take. It in- 
creases rapidly and it kills home comfort.” 

"I don’t think John has been as happy as he 
used to be since he bought that house on Fifth 
Avenue,” said Alice Morgan. " He does not seem 
to me to take any enjoyment out of it.^ He lives in 
the library, I never see him in the parlors.” 

" Oh, it was all a mistake, launching out in that 
silly way to please Jessie;” concluded Mr. Lacy. ^ 
" He may have the means, but it is an artificial life, 
it gives people false impressions in regard to the 
amount of his wealth, and here is one of the first 


6 


DIVOBCE. 


results of it. Constance comes home from school 
knowing as much of real life as a babj, she is 
‘ brought out in society ’—to quote Jessie, and in 
three months she is engaged to be married. Her 
head is turned for the time being, she is romantic, 
and the whole matter appears to her like a charm- 
ing novel. Well! my little girls shall have a better 
chance for happiness.” 

'‘ Oil well, Frank, you are too sweeping. Mr. 
Travers may be all that Constance thinks he is. 
We know very little about him,” said Mrs. Parker. 

"Exactly, we all profess to love Constance and 
we are all about to be present at her marriage to a 
man that we know nothing whatever of. We shall 
‘ eat, drink, and be merry,’ over an action that may 
turn out unhappily for her. She is about to stake 
everything she has upon it, her whole future, and 
we are discussing trumpery, presents and what we 
shall wear, and shirking the question that is really 
perplexing us.” 

"But what can we do?” asked his wife. "Can 
we stop the marriage, or postpone it ? We kne^v 
nothing definite until the engagement was an- 
nounced with a grand flourish in Jessie’s society 
voice.” 

" I know, I know all about it.” 


DIVORCE. 


7 


“ Consider the bright side of it,” said Mrs. Gua 
Morgan, in her quiet voice. “ Mr. Travers is young 
and very handsome. He is a member of our 
church, he is in a good business, he sings exquis- 
itely. Why, I can’t see, Frank, what you find to 
worry about. I know some of us used to shake our 
heads over you when Hetty declared that she 
would marry you or die Hetty Morgan, and see 
how sensible she was ! I’ll spare your blushes and 
bows — ” 

A burst of laughter saluted this remark. 

“ I suppose after that I ought to be silenced, but 
Belle, you must remember that Hetty had been ac- 
quainted with me for seven years, and she knew 
my faults pretty thoroughly.” 

“ She doesn’t admit to this day that you have the 
shadow of such a thing as a foible.” 

“ Hetty is prejudiced‘” Mr. Lacy said, starting 
up and taking several turns through the rooms. 

Mr. Parker’s eyes followed him while he ad- 
dressed the whole party. 

“ I think that Travers’ love for Con. is a strong 
point in his favor.” 

“ If he loves her,” said Mr* Lacy, in a curious 
tone. 

“ Why, Frank ! What other motive could he 


8 


DIVORCE. 


have for manning her ? He is very attractive, and 
he knows a number of girls who are much hand- 
somer than Con., and equally well off. He is one 
of the eligibles, you must remember,” said Belle 
Morgan. 

“ A man likes a wife whom he can trust‘” Mr. 
Lacy continued slowly. 

“ Well, of course,” was the general assent, 
laughingly given. 

“ I wish you wouldn’t look so seriously at the 
matter !” said Gus. Morgan. “We all know what 
Con. is, she must be happy ! her nature v.dll make 
her so. I suppose God made such natures as hers 
to renew our failing belief in humanity. She is 
purity itself.” 

“ Yes, and she attracts her opposites,” said Mr. 
Lacy. 

“ That may be a wise provision of Providence,” 
remarked Mr. Parker. “ She may influence Mr. 
Travers for his good, supposing his nature to be 
the reverse of hers, a mere supposition, of course, 
as we know nothing about him.” 

“ But if his nature is so very different from hers 
how can he attract her ?” asked Alice Morgan, ap- 
pealing to Mr. Lacy. 

“ She is too pure to suspect or recognize evil. 


DIVOKCE. 


9 


She judges others by herself,” was the quick an- 
swer. “ But the revulsion may come.” 

“ Wliat would you do with her were she your 
daughter ?” asked Mr. Parker. 

“ I would surround her with cultivated people, 
let her take up the studies she enjoys, and give her 
the opportunities to understand herself, to sound 
her own nature and appreciate its requirements, its 
positive needs. The girl has aspirations that she 
has never even dreamed of, she has a great sympa- 
thetic heart, to be bruised and broken if she falls 
into the hands of a man who does not value her as 
she deserves.” 

“You ought to speak to John,” said Mrs. 
Parker. 

“ I have spoken to him. He thinks if a gill* is 
going to marry, why the younger she is the better 
are her chances of happiness. She falls into her 
husband’s ways and adopts his views without hesi- 
tation, she does not assert her own, therefore there 
is no clashing of individualities. It is a good rule 
for commonplace people, but for Constance — ” 
Mr. Lacy shook his head, and turned away. 

“ Oh, dear ! I wish you wouldn’t represent the 
subject so! Girls marry every day and they are 
happy, or at least appear so,” urged Miss Morgan. 


10 


DIVORCE. 


'“We are all so fond of Con. that perhaps we over- 
«estimate her goodness.” 

“ Our very affection for her proves her worth,” 
;said Mr. Lacy. “ In a family as large as this it is 
rather unusual for one member of it to be the ob- 
ject of general esteem. Why Con. seems to belong 
do each of us personally, and yet she has never 
tried to win one of us. You see, her individuality 
is strong, you feel it in spite of yourself. She can- 
not be moulded, I doubt that she will ever take an 
impression*” 

“ Why worry about her then ? She will hold her. 
own,” said Belle Morgan. 

“ Well, in my experience as a lawyer, I have met 
several such women, unhappily married. They are 
bound hand and foot by their vows, their family 
ties, their conscience — ” Mr. Lacy took a tea-rose 
bud from a dish on the table and held it before his 
sister-in-law as he spoke. “ I could not change the 
color of this flower nor deprive it of its fragrance, 
but I can crush it under my foot !-” 

“ Oh, Frank, you make me shiver ! If we women 
could argue as you do with ourselves, not one of us 
would ever risk the consequences of marriage !” 

“ I can tell you, that nowadays a woman ought 
to think before she does take any such risks.” 


DIVORCE. 


11 


“ You see Frank is on our side of the question,” 
said his wife, rising with the intention of revisit- 
ing her mother’s room. “ I suppose as we can alter 
nothing we should make the best of everything.” 

“ A woman’s strategy,” said Mr. Parker, smiling. 

“ Hush^ — here they come !” said Mrs. Parker, in 
a warning voice, and with a gesture toward the 
window. In a few seconds a loud ring was followed 
by the entrance of a young girl and a gentleman 
who came among the others with any easy grace of 
manner and bright smiles and salutations. 

“ Well, Con., have you been at church?” 

“ Yes, indeed. Uncle Frank ! Setting you an ex- 
ample.” 

“ How is your mother ?” asked Mr. Parker. 

“ Ma doesn’t feel well at all, and pa thought he 
would stay with her, so Gilbert and I promised to 
bring news of grandma. Are you going up stairs, 
Aunt Hetty ?” 

“ Yes ; what ails Jessie ?” 

“Why, she was at Mrs. Thorne’s reception last 
night, and she had to stand a great part of the time. 
It was a perfect crush, and so warm, ma was ex- 
hausted when she came home.” 

“ You didn’t go ?” 


12 


DIVORCE. 


‘‘No. I am not going out until after,” — a faint 
blush finished the explanation. 

Mrs. Lacy went up stairs, Constance following 
her. 

“I thought you were going to Mrs. Tliorne’s, Con. 
You must have intended it last week, for you showed 
me your dress said Mrs. Lacy on the way. 

“I know — well, Gilbert didn’t want to go. There 
were people to be there whom he didn’t care to 
meet, and he doesn’t like me to dance with other 
gentlemen — so we went to the theatre. We had a 
lovely evening ! ” 

“No doubt.” Mrs. Lacy threw open the door of 
her mother’s room. Mrs. Morgan was in bed, prop- 
ped with pillows, as she could breathe easier in a 
sitting posture. She was a thin, fragile looking lady, 
with fine features, a very fair skin, soft bands of 
white hair, and a pair of large, dark eyes that lit up 
her whole face with an expression of hope and peace, 
that resulted from a pure heart and life. She smiled 
as her eyes fell on Constance, and the girl kissed 
her and sat on the side of the bed, holding out a 
little bunch of violets for the old lady’s admiration. 

“How well you look, grandma! Would you like 
to see Gilbert ? ” Mrs. Morgan spoke playfully. 

“Not to-night, pet. I’m tired and I haven’t my 


DIVORCE. 


13 


best cap on. You must give him my love and tell 
him I am trying to grow strong for the wedding 
day.” 

Constance again explained her parents, absence 
and then sat with rather an abstracted gaze fixed on 
Mrs. Lacy’s face, while that lady made minute in- 
quiries as to her mother’s likes and fancies in the 
way of little dishes, and arranged how the night 
nursing was to be perfected. 

“Are you coming. Con.?” she asked opening the 
door, after a long leave taking. Constance half 
rose. 

“Let Con. stay a little longer, Hetty. I want to 
speak to her.” 

“You are sure you are able, that it will not excite 
you to talk, mother ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, Con. never disturbs me.” 

Mrs. Lacy shut the door, and for some minutes 
Mrs. Morgan watched her grandchild in perfect 
silence. The girl was sitting easily, her face turned 
to her grandmother’s. She was smoothing the folds 
of her silk walking suit in a lazy, half unconscious 
manner that told how far away v/ere her thoughts. 
There was nothing remarkable in the girl’s appear- 
ance, she was, in fact, decidedly girlish. Her figure 
was slight and above the medium height, she had a 


14 


DIVORCE. 


quantity of pretty, brown hair, with a touch of gold 
relieving the shadows of the heavy braids ; her fea- 
tures were regular and her complexion was fair and 
delicate. She was neither brilliant nor pretty ; she 
had no studied charms of manner nor expression ; 
she was intensely natural. Her eyes were large and 
clear gray in color and capable of expressing every 
shade of feeling ; her uncle Gus. called them laugh- 
ing eyes, her uncle Frank read the girl’s nature in 
them. He also read power in the lines of her 
mouth, and in the heavy, straight eyebrows and low, 
full forehead above them. 

“ Constance, dear, you seem so happy,” Mrs. Mor- 
gan whispered. 

“ I am grandma.” It was a sigh of intense feel- 
ing. 

“You are very fond of Mr. Travers — Gilbert?” 

Constance flushed and pressed her hands together 
but she did not speak. 

“Well, dear, your love is the greatest treasure 
you can give him. You are honest and conscientious, 
stay so, darling. No matter what happens, keep 
your self-respect. Always feel that you are worthy 
of a good man’s love. Eemember what marriage is ; 
only death can release you from your vows, so make 
it your great object to keep them with your whole 


DIVOPtCE. 


15 


heart. Your duty to your husband will be second 
only to your duty to God, and if you are faithful to 
God, the rest will come happily and without effort. 

I have always felt very thankful for my blessings. 
Con., and one of the greatest among them is this, 
w^e have had no domestic tragedies, nor scandals in 
the family. Our men and women have all been 
honorable and faithful husbands and wives. You 
are too young to realize all that I mean, but as you 
grow older you will understand me. Life is beauti- 
ful and grand when we try to see how much good 
we can do with our time and talents. Trust your 
husband, dear, have patience wdth any faults — ” 

‘‘Oh, grandma!” it was a cry of incredulity. 

“I see, dear, so long as love is behind the clouds 
they are sure to clear away, and differences between 
man and wdfe should never reach a third person, it 
is a violation of a sacred promise. We do not pub- 
lish our own short comings, and what is wrong in 
one injures both the man and the w^oman. My expe- 
rience has been that if a man and a w^oman cannot ^ 
make their own happiness no outsider can do it for ♦ 
them. Interference widens the breach. Why am I 
talking so seriously to you, my pet ? ” 

“I don’t know', grandma; but I will remember 


16 


DIVORCE. 


what you say. It is good adviee, I know, although 
I an;i sure I shall never need it.” 

She put her arms around her grandmother’s neck. 

“I hope I shall he as good and as happy as you 
.are,” she whispered. 

“God grant that you may be a better and a hap- 
'pier woman, Constance. You have a stronger char- 
acter than I had at your age ; your emotions are 
deeper, your will is firmer. Act from jORi’e motives, 
do nothing that you cannot ask God’s blessing upon, 
those are the secrets of peace and happiness. Why 
are you crying, child? Gilbert will not thank me 
for making your eyes red. Look in the corner of 
my second drawer for a little box, there is some- 
thing in it for you.” 

“Oh, grandma!” Constance hugged and kissed 
the old lady, her shining eyes sparkling in spite of 
the tears filling them, and she stepped lightly across 
the room to the bureau. 

“Y^ou open it, grandma, and let me peep,” she 
.said, coming back with the small leathern case. 

The spring was stiff, both faces were smiling when 
at last it yielded and the lid flew open. Constance 
flushed with delight, her breath came quickly as her 
■eyes fell ondhe ornament, a cross of large diamonds, 


DIVORCE. 


17 


then she said impulsively. “But is it fair to give 
those to me — grandma ? ” 

“My dear, your grandfather bought them for me, 
B am going to give them to the person that he would 
have thought worthy of them. You will promise 
me to keep them until you feel as I do, that you 
have no farther use for them, and then give them to 
the purest among your children or grand-children. 
Do not repeat what I say, it would not be under- 
stood, but your grandfather had peculiar ideas in 
regard to me, and I have them for you. I never 
knew the value of the stones and I know that you 
will never ask about it. Let me put the chain 
around your neck, there, ndw^ put the case in your 
pocket, and now, love, ki^s .riae good-night. One of 
these days, I want to have a talk with Gilbert. God 
bless you, Constance. Tell your father to come in 
to-morrow, and give my love to your mother, she 
will come when she is able.” 

While Constance had been up stairs, conversa- 
tion had been going on languidly in the parlors. 
Mr. Travers could talk or be silent as it pleased 
him, this evening he simply answered when ad- 
dressed by name. He took a chair near Miss Mor- 
gan’s and amused himself by clasping and unclasp- 
ing her bracelets and studying her many rings. Mr. 


18 


DIVORCE. 


Laq^ was, for a wonder, quite at a loss for small 
talk and so Mr. Parker and Mr. Gus. Morgan tossed 
little balls to and fro and the ladies picked them up 
or let them roll away at hap-hazard. The impres- 
sion made by Mr. Lacy’s remarks still affected his 
relatives and Mr. Travers knew intuitively that he 
was an object of more than usual scrutiny. 

He was a tall, powerfully built man, attractive by 
the magnetism of vigorous health, fresh, fair color- 
ing and features sufficiently regular. Mr. Lacy 
might object to the expression of the eyes and the 
lines of the mouth and chin, but he found no ad- 
herents to his theories, based on the shape of a 
man’s features and the form of his head. Mr. Lacy 
had long since learned that one person’s experience 
is of small service to another. His choice stock was 
at his niece’s disposal, but Constance was regarding 
her lover as a girl beloved, not as a phrenologist, a 
psychologist or a physiognomist. She had ‘'all the 
faith of happy ignorance, all the hope of perfect 
trust in him. 

When she returned to the parlor there was a 
general movement of departure, but the diamonds 
on her breast attracted all eyes and for a moment 
there was an ominous silence. 

“ Why are you all so quiet ?” asked Constance. 


3JIV0KCE. 


19 


“ Do you think grandma is worse than usual 

“Oh, no. We are ready to go home, we were 
waiting for you,” said Mr. Lacy. “ I see grandma 
has been decorating you. That is quite a nice wed- 
ding present,” he touched the cross. 

“ Isn’t it lovely !” Constance replied, glancing at 
the stones, flushing and not noticing that she and 
Mr. Lacy had the conversation to themselves. Mr. 
Travers slowly approached. 

“ They are exquisite stones,” there was a tone of 
surprised pleasure in his voice. “It is hardly safe 
to wear them in the street. Can you cover then! ?” 

He turned the collar of her sacque so as to hide 
the ornament. 

“ But perhaps they want to see them,” Constance 
said, facing the others. No one seemed very anx- 
ious, a few cool remarks rewarded her thoughtful- 
ness. “ Yes, the stones looked better set up.” 
“The Maltese cross \vas an improvement on the 
ordinary shape.” “ It would look well with her 
wedding dress,” and so on. 

Then Constance left the house with her lover, 
utterly unconscious of the angry, bitter envy that 
stirred with a single exception all the hearts of her 
nearest relatives. But there was no interchange of 
opinions. The feeling was rankling, it was too deep 


20 


DIVORCE. 


to come ta the surface and explode in language. 
The Lacys and the Parkers went to their own 
homes. Mr. Gus. Morgan had brought his bride to 
his mother’s house ten years before and they had 
remained with her and his sister Alice ever since. 
It was an arrangement that gave general satisfac- 
tion. Alice was free to marry, the house was more 
cheerful, as young Mrs. Morgan had hosts of friends 
to come and go, and the old lady delighted in her 
three grand-children, turning her own room into a 
nursery when able to bear their prattle and play. 

Mr. Travers and Constance walked slowly home- 
ward. 


II. 

When Constance Morgan was fifteen her father 
had delighted her mother by buying and furnish- 
ing a house on Fifth Avenue. To use an alge- 
braic expression, the gain in this move was still 
an unknown quantity. The Morgans were respec- 
table, well-connected people and had been such 
for generations. Mr. John Morgan had succeeded 
his father in business, had married happily and 
was leading a life that exactly suited his ideas 
of what existence should be, when by some for- 
tunate [or unfortunate) rise in dry-goods he found t/ 
himself a much richer man than he had ever 
expected to be, and by far the richest in the whole 
family, including collateral branches. 

21 


22 


DIVOBCE. 


At this period he lived in a comfortable and 
plainly furnished house on a side street. His 
wife w^as a strong healthy woman without cares 
beyond those connected with the duties of a 
good wife and mother. His children were grow- 
ing up around him, healthy and intelligent, and 
he was educating them on the principle that 
the broader the foundation the better Avere their 
chances of finding the occupation most conge- 
nial and the best adapted to their tastes and 
talents. His sons were at liberty to go into 
his store and learn the business, or to select 
•another. They should start with a sound con- 
>stitution and a good education, two blessings 
•on Avhich he believed all others rested and de- 
.pended. He was not a worshipper of w'ealth, 
neither grasping nor avaricious, yet he was an 
ideal business i^ian, and he liked to spend his 
evenings with his wife and children ; their inter- 
ests affording him the necessary relaxation after 
a day spent among cases of dry-goods. In fact, 
Mr. Morgan’s ideas of amusement afforded amuse- 
ment to many of his acquaintances. He liked 
to read, he could play a famous game of whist 
with his congenial friends, and old comedies 


DIVOKCE. 


23 


r tragedies that he had seen played in the ‘ Park’ 
or the ‘ Old Bowery ’ in their palmy days would 
still attract him to the theatre to deliver an encour- 
aging opinion of our modern stars at their zenith. 
He was inclined to describe the Kembles, the 
Keans and the Elder Booth to young fellows who 
raved over the emotional actors of our local dramas 
and to wonder at their indifference to a Past which 
would alwa^'S cast its shadows on his present. 

Mr. Morgan belonged to a w^ell-represented class 
of good citizens ; his patriotism never incited him 
to risk the contamination of ward politics. Once 
in four years he looked over the record of the man 
whom the wise-heads of his party nominated for 
President, and generally ended by voting for his 
party’s candidate. He trusted those whose duty it 
was to attend to political affairs exactly as he ex- 
pected his customers to trust him in the matter of 
dry-goods. 

The Fifth Avenue scheme pleased him because it 
pleased Jessie and the children, he saw none of the 
visions that were dazzling his wife’s eyes and ima- 
gination. Mrs. Morgan had reached that period of 
a woman’s life when her vanity is assailed by reason 
of having time to look about her and measure her 
own importance. She was now between forty-five 


24 


DIVORCE. 


and fifty years of age, with the beauty, vigor and 
appearance of forty. She had no particular cares, 
she had time and money on her hands. Several of 
her old friends were successfully launched on the 
ocean of society, and their manner of getting 
through life appealed to many of her weak points. 
They were also rich and handsome, and their at- 
tractions found an audience instead of being lightly 
appreciated by or completely thrown away upon a 
small domestic and social circle. After all, this de- 
sire for a sufficient and critical public is not confined 
to the men and women who announce their appear- 
ance on the boards of a well-known theatre. The 
world is crowded with small stages and their restless, 
ambitious aspirants for social fame. 

So it followed that Mrs. John Morgan tried the 
effects of money and a good family record, and 
found herself a success to herself. She was amazed 
at her own capabilities. Now, for the first time in 
her life, she heard them expressed in words, and 
read them in flattering looks. She became an ob- 
ject of interest to herself. Why, had she continued 
living her humdrum, quiet existence that John 
preferred., she would have gone to her grave in 
blissful ignorance of the gifts and talonts that all 
these years had lain hidden in a napkin. 


DIVORCE. 


25 


She heard in round-about ways that her figure 
was very beautiful, that her hands would delight a 
sculptor, that she carried her head regally (of 
course traditional royal models were alluded to), 
that she had a charming smile — her smiles in- 
creased after that, that her conversational powers 
were fine, that she was a born hostess, so easy yet 
so dignified. Then — her taste in dress was simply 
perfect. No wonder that the lady not once ques- 
tioning the sincerity of the givers of these opinions, 
found her head very much turned. It was only 
when she was very far out on the social waves that 
she began to realizo that her husband was not in 
her boat. Just as strangers absorbed her, his de- 
votion and admiration were withdrawn. At first he 
would not believe in the evidence of his senses. 
She had always been all-sufficient to him ; he fond- 
ly loved her, he had worked faithfully to insure her 
happiness, he had no hopes, no ambitions, that did 
not centre in his wife and children. That he should 
prove insufficient to her, that after all these years 
she could leave his society wiUingly to meet and 
cultivate utter strangers was at first incredible, ab- 
surd. It was a temporary change of affairs, done 
in the future interests of her children, this effort to 
establish an immense visiting list and receive and 


26 


DIVOKCE. 


visit new people. He would stand at times before 
the heaped up baskets of cards, wondering who the 
men and women could be whose names he saw in- 
scribed upon them, and what possible interest their 
owners’ acquaintance could have for Jessie. 

He continued to wonder ; he was philosopher 
enough to bear seeing his children growing away 
from him, but for his wife’s defection he had no 
philosophy that could help him. He was hurt — 
hurt past complaint or cure. 

His habits of life changed to meet the domestic 
revolution. He appeared when required at his 
wife’s “brilliant and crowded receptions,” he drew the 
checks that she had come to demand, but the world 
had altered to him, he seemed to view things mth 
another mind, his old theories of causes and effects 
no longer served him. 

He grew into a silent, gray-looking man, home- 
less, in a magnificent house, companionless though 
claiming the acquaintance of hundreds. He joined 
a club and read his papers and played his game of 
whist among his peers, he felt that his experience 
would have been an old story to the married mem- 
bers, but he never told it. People might surmise 
what they pleased. 

During this “transition period, Constance had 


DIYOECE. 


27 


been going to school. Fortunately for herself, she 
was too yonng and too much absorbed in her books 
to realize the sad side of the changes. The side 
that she appreciated was a very fascinating one. 

To move is a delight to a young person, to 
change comfort for luxury is always agreeable. 
Constance took possession of her new room and its 
costly belongings, and stood for some minutes at 
the window too happy to speak her thoughts as she 
gazed below her at the panorama of the Avenue. 
But while she adapted herself without an effort to 
her new inanimate surroundings, when it came to 
animate objects, Mrs. Morgan found her youngest 
child far from pliable. 

“ Who is the girl that you walk home from school 
with every day, Constance ?” she asked sharply. 

“ Florence Almann.” 

“ I wish you would walk with the other girls, 
Cora Leavitt, for instance.” 

“Why?” Constance was trying to finish a French 
exercise, and her mother’s interruptions had ceased 
to be well-timed. 

“Why? well because she is worth cultivating: 
she is a neighbor, she is a stylish girl and she 
dresses handsomely.” 

“ I do not like her. I never speak to her.” 


28 


DIVORCE, 


“ Why, Constance ! That is no way to talk. 
You must be polite to everyone ; you never know 
when people may be of use to you, and Cora is in 
our set. You will meet her in society when you 
come out, and I particularly wish you to be friendly- 
with her. The Leavitts are wealthy and move in 
very refined circles, and I expect to call on Mrs. 
Leavitt next week. I don’t think that Florence 
Almann’s friendship will be of much advantage to 
you. You know you can’t keep it up after you 
leave school. 

Constance put her pen down ; she was sitting at 
her little blue-topped writing table, her back was 
to the window, and she raised her eyes to look 
gravely and squarely at her mother, who, dressed 
for the street, stood between her and the door. 

“How do you mean, ma ?” 

“Why the girl does not belong in your circle, 
Constance ; you can’t patronise her and to meet her 
on equal terms will be 'impossible ; the sooner you 
drop her acquaintance the better.” 

“Would that be polite?” 

Mrs. Morgan flushed. 

“I didn’t tell you to do it rudely, it can be done 
so quietly and gradually that Florence will not 
notice it. To begin with, don’t bring her home with 


DIVOBCE. 


29 


you so informally, I don’t care to have people say 
that your intimate friend is a girl whom nobody 
knows; now, remember.” 

“Yes, ma: will you be out very late?” 

“Yes, quite late. I’m taking the carriage. I 
have to meet the managers of the Charity Ball, 
they’ve put my name on the list, and then I have to 
see Mrs. Charlton about our table at the fair. Don’t 
wait dinner for me, good-bye.” She rustled out of 
the room. Constance stood up and watched her 
getting into the carriage, her heavy train sweeping 
the step, her handsome face turned up to give the 
liveried servant his orders. The next minute the 
door was shut, Constance had a glimpse of quilted 
crimson satin, white gloved hands and a card-case, 
and the carriage was gone. 

A few minutes after Mr. Morgan opened his 
daughter’s door, attracted by the sound of convul- 
sive, suppressed sobbing. Constance had her face 
hidden in her hands, but he pressed them in his and 
drew her head to his breast. 

“What is it child? ” 

“I hate — hate everything!” was the quick, pas- 
sionate cry. 

“Tell me, dear, perhaps I can fix things for you.” 


30 


DIVORCE. 


\ ^ ; 

His own suppressed anger and disappointment '' 

made him sympathetic. ' 

“Oh, pa, I love Florence Almann ; she has been J 
just like one of my sisters to me, we study together J 
and talk together; how can I turn away from her? 
Avhat has she done that is wTong ? I like her, better 
than all the other girls put together, and if ma won’t , 
let me love her — then — then I won’t go back to 
school! No, I won’t! I can’t go there and be cold 
to her — I’ll never speak to her again, if that will 
please ma, but I’ll never see her again — never! I 
can’t drop her gradually ! I wouldn’t treat anybody 
that way, pa, would you?” 

“No, child, I wouldn’t, and you need not. Go 
back to school and act as usual with your little 
friend. I’ll speak to your mother.” 

He spoke on the following morning, quietly, he 
always used self-control, now, but in a voice that 
admitted of no argument. “Jessie, you have been 
settling matters for some time to suit your own ideas, 
and I hope you are satisfied with yourself, as you 
seem, but you must not try to make a heartless 
worldly woman out of Constance. Leave the child 
as God gave her to us, simple and sincere. I don’t 
believe that you can change her nature, but you can 
make her very unhappy, and perhaps she has as 


DIYORCE. 


31 


much right to be true to her own convictions as I 
have. I know that young as she is I respect her 
honesty of thought and words, and you must do it 
too. She shall choose her own friends, and as far 
as society, as you understand it, is concerned, I 
hope she will always avoid it.” 

Constance continued her school life in peace, and 
finished it with regret. For six months, “My 
daughter’s debut,” absorbed Mrs. Morgan and enter- 
tained her ever-increasing host of dear friends,, 
then, “ My Constance’s admirers ” became her theme 
and not without cause. Constance in a crowded 
room had the effect of a fragrant lily surrounded by 
wax imitations. Even her slight, swaying figure had 
the beauty of natural proportion to increase the ef- 
fect of her costly dresses, for her limited knowledge 
of physiology had taught her to avoid the results of 
tight-lacing. Mrs. Morgan had at first been shocked 
at her daughter’s idea of a waist, it was four inches 
too large for the width of her shoulders, and not at 
all stylish. The mother was in despair, but after 
hearing that a prominent artist had watched Con- 
stance dancing and had pronounced her a living 
type of the Greek ideal woman, Mrs. Morgan be- 
came more reconciled to nature’s mistakes in mould- 
ing the curves of the human form. 


32 


DIVORCE. 


“My daughter’s engagement” was the triumphant 
climax of the girl’s first season, and Mrs. Morgan 
spent the forty days of Lent in the delightful but 
.-arduous duty of the collection of a fitting trousseau 
for “dear Constance, who was to be married in June, 
the month of roses.” 

Mr. Lacy’s misgivings had made no impression on 
Mr. Morgan for the reasons that Mr. Morgan be- 
lieved in love, and was sure of his daughter’s affec- 
tion for Mr. Travers, that 1^ also trusted the lover’s 
motives, and that he felt that the sooner Constance 
was safely out of the artificial existence called “so- 
ciety ” the better. He gave her a pretty little house 
near his own, satisfied that once in it, Constance 
would make her home a happy one. On her side : 
Mrs. Morgan congratulated herself on having thor- 
oughly performed the duties of a mother. For years 
she had sedulously cultivated society for her chil- 
dren’s sake, she had placed Constance in a position 
to see and be seen, and the girl v/as about to be hap- 
pily married. What more could a mother do ? 

^ She was deep in the mysteries of a new novel 
when Mr. Travers and Constance returned from their 
visit to the elder Mrs. Morgan. She glanced up as 
they came into the sitting-room, closing her book 


DIVOKCE. 


33 


as slie caught the flashing of the diamonds on the 
girl’s dark silk dress. 

“Why, Constance!” • Constance spoke in a trou- 
bled voice. 

“Grandma is better, but not able to be up yet.” 

“Yes,” indifferently said, was the answer, and then 
with suppressed interest and delight — Mrs. Morgan 
put her hand on the cross. 

“ Where did you get these ? They are your grand- 
ma’s diamonds, I am sure. Twelve stones of equal 
size, set up, too. How beautiful they are ! ” 

She turned to Mr. Travers for comprehension of 
her enthusiasm. 

“Constance is the old lady’s favorite, I should 
say,” he remarked with a gay smile. His voice was 
peculiarly rich and frank. 

“You don’t mean” — 

Constance was surprised at her mother’s astonish- 
ment, it was disagreable to the girl, and she looked 
what she felt. 

“Grandma gave them to me.” 

“She did! What a lucky girl you are! Why we 
all supposed” — She stopped herself — 

“Supposed what?” asked Constance. 

“ Oh — it was natural to think that your grand- 
mother would not part with them — that she would 


34 


DIVORCE. 


will them. She is so fond of them, you know they 
were a keepsake.” 

“Yes — I know — . Do yoti think I should have 
refused to take them, ma ? ” 

“What a goose you are. Con.! Why it was a 
pleasure to her to give them to you, herself.” 

“Yes — so she said — still — ” 

“Nonsence, Constance. You are going to be mar- 
ried, and she wants to see you wear them. They 
will be lovely with your dress. You must have sol- 
itaire ear-rings to match them.” 

“Oh, ma — don’t do that.” 

“Why, your father will be satisfied to let you have 
them. It will be better for you to own the set.” 

She left the room, and went down to the library 
where Mr. Morgan was sitting reading. He took off 
his glasses, yawned and rubbed his eyes as she spoke 
to him. 

“John, your mother has given her diamonds to 
Constance.” The exultation in her voice and eyes 
was no longer guarded. 

“ I am sorry for that—” he shook his head. “She 
should have carried out her old idea, and divided 
them between the six of us. You see all the others 
will be annoyed about it.” 

“Well, let them. Constance, really, can better 


DIVORCE. 


35 


afford to wear them than any one in the family ; and 
yon and yonr mother are always talking of con- 
sistency.” 


III. 

While selecting stones for her ear-rings Con- 
stance was enlightened as to the value of her grand- 
mother’s present. The jeweler gazed admiringly at 
the cross and compared it with several from his 
case. 

“ It would cost you at least ten thousand dollars 
to duplicate that ” — he said casually as he handled 
the ornaments. Constance flushed, Mrs. Morgan 
covered her delight with a careless, “ Yes — I knew 
it.” 

“ Ma, I wish I didn’t own the diamonds,” Con- 
stance said, as soon as they were in the carriage. 

“Well, that’s gratitude, I’m sure” — 

“ Oh, I don’t mean that, ma, I feel more than 
ever how fond grandma is of me, but don’t you see, 
they are too valuable for me — ” 

“Nonsense! Of course you must keep them in 
the bank and only wear them on grand occasions ; 
but think of being able to say that you own them — 
36 


DIVORCE. 


37 


why — the knowledge of the fact will do you good — 
You really need something in that way, Constance. 
There is something lacking in your manner. You 
don’t impress people. You look like a school-girl 
out for a holiday.” 

“ I’m very sorry, ma ?” 

“ Oh well, Gilbert will have some effect upon you, 
I hope. He has manner and importance enough 
for a prince. You’ll have to copy him if you don’t 
want to be entirely overshadowed.” 

Constance laughed merrily and musically, and 
Mrs. Morgan’s attention was soon distracted by 
some new goods in a window and the desire to ex- 
amine them. 

As the weeks passed Constance became more 
timid and retiring than ever, and on her wedding 
day and in her wedding dress she was as fair and 
fragile as a blossom deprived of its support, whik 
Mr. Travers to carry out the simile was firmer, 
stronger and more imposing looking than usual. It 
was a memorable day for Mrs. John Morgan, the 
crowning triumph of many victories. Not one of 
her well-laid plans had the presumption to “ gang- 
a-glee.” Her friends crowded the church and the 
house, and looked and said all that was expected of 
them. In fact, it was one of the weddings that ex- 


38 


DIVORCE. 


cite the ridicule of the unfeeling and the sorrow of 
the sensible, and the most disgusted person pre- 
sent was the quiet, long-headed father of the 
bride. 

Mr. Travers had been for months the object of 
much earnest scrutiny, and his magnificent nerves 
did not fail him on the final and supreme occasion. 

He supported Constance so beautifully during the 
ceremony and afterwards that a universal sense of 
their peculiar fitness for each other was created 
and became the theme of conversation and admira- 
tion. Numerous old-fashioned quotations were re- 
membered as singularly applicable to the appear- 
ance of this young couple. Ideal types were ap- 
parently represented in this mystical union of two 
individualities. 

There was little opportunity for the expression of 
much sentiment, but in the immediate family of the 
bride, “ a great deal of sincere feeling ” Avas con- 
trolled. The tide of gay acquaintances swept 
through the rooms and finally retreated, and then 
for a ^e^Y minutes Constance Avas hugged and kissed 
by her many relatives. Four genera-Vions AA^ere rep- 
resented for Constance had brotliers and sisters 
married, and their little ones Avere in the group, 
'^he old lady looked sweet and very delicate in her 


I>IYOKCE. 


gray satin and ricli lace trimmings, and slie was the 
last to kiss Constance in her wedding dress. She 
smiled contentedly as her glance fell on the 
diamonds glistening in the white lace that shaded 
tliG girl’s fair neck. 

Mr. Lacy was doing his best to he genial and 
witty, hut the effort w'as too palpable to be success- 
ful. The bride and groom gone, the others only 
lingered to discuss the guests and collect little 
souvenirs of the day. The next morning the ser- 
vants swept out the last traces of the wedding, in 
the shape of dried leaves and faded flow^ers and re- 
stored the heavy pieces of furniture to their usual 
places. 

Mrs. Morgan sat alone in her glory and lived over 
the joy of the preceding day. Her husband and 
sons had gone down town, she had leisure now to 
ponder the present and lay out future pleasures. 

Constance was to return in two weeks to her own 
home, and later on she expected to join her mother 
at the sea-shore for the season. Mrs. Morgan con- 
sidered it necessary to leave her comfortable house 
and endure the discomforts of a crowded hotel for 
several months in the year, because a number of her 
Mrs. Grundy’s did it; as an act of faith. Mr. Mor- 
gan went and came and found no rest either at home 


4-0 


DIVORCE. 


or abroad. He remembered with regret former 
years, when he had taken his family to qniet, coun- 
try places, and enjoyed to the fullest extent the 
charms of God’s country. That was all over. His 
wife now found satisfaction in dressing three or four 
times, in the day, in gossipping with a crowd of con- 
genial spirits, in eating late dinners, in driving on 
the beach for the sake of seeing and being seen, and 
in reading her name and a description of her clothes 
in the columns of the daily papers, devoted to such 
news. She was ready to leave town on the very 
day that Constance arrived from her wedding trip, 
but she waited over to welcome the young people 
to their new home. Mr. Morgan opened the carri- 
age door and lifted out his daughter. His eyes met 
hers, tender and clear. She was happy. He shook 
hands with his tall son-in-law and led the way into 
the house. Constance was unprepared for the ap- 
pearance of the rooms, her father had been adorn- 
ing them to suit her tastes, and now she clung to 
his arm and kissed him, uttering exclamations of 
delight and quite unable to express herself in w^ords. 

I am glad your father has found something to 
amuse him,” Mrs. Morgan said as she v.^as leaving. 

He is always planning now for you. He did at 
first for your sisters when they married. Somehow, 


DIVORCE. 


41 


they didn’t appreciate his efforts, hut Constance, I 
think yon do, and no matter how much your hus- 
band is to you, I think you will always feel as you 
should for your father.” 

An hour afterward Mr. Travers found Constance 
still in her travelling dress sitting at the window of 
her pretty room. She looked up smiling, tenderly 
as he came in. 

“ Gilbert, suppose we stay in town instead of 
going to Long Branch.” She stood up and put her 
arms about his neck. He did not answer her, but 
he held her close to him and let her explain herseK. 
“ Pa and grandma will be in the city — you know — 
and then — we have been away, we can see more of 
each other here than there. I don’t like public 
hotels — do you ?” 

Constance interpreted her husband’s silence as 
sympathy. “ I can’t say that I am fond of hotel 
life — still — there are several things to consider. 
Your mother vdshes to have you with her — you have 
everything ready. Of course it would be very 
charming for me to have you all to myself, buj; your 
health might suffer — you know you are used to 
being out of town in the hot weather, and it would 
be selfish on my part to deprive you of the pleasure 
you will have.” He kissed her. 


42 


DIVOKCE. 


“ But I would rather stay here. Some of my 
friends never go away in Summer and they are just 
as happy as I am. Let us stay in town. It will be 
lovely keeping house here by ourselves. We can go 
down to see ma on Saturdays, and stay over Sun- 
days. That is what pa does.” 

“Why you little goose, if you go down there I’ll 
come down every day when business is over.” 

“Yes, I know, but I won’t have you all to myself 
— I know just how people have to do in such places. 
If you stay near your husband you are laughed at.” 

Gilbert laughed heartily. 

“ So you have been taking notes of married life. 
Well, we’ll think the matter over.” 

But they the next week and stayed away 

from the dear little house until September. There 
were a great many of Mrs. Morgan’s friends at the 
Branch, and as Constance had foreseen, she saw 
very little of her husband. The evening being over 
for the ladies of the party, it had only commenced 
for the gentleman. A cigar and a short walk meant 
an absence of hours. 

At first Constance sat up until Gilbert came 
lightly and rapidly along the corridor and knocked 
gently on the door. She would open it smiling and 


DIVORCE. 


43 


looking -unusually sweet in her night-dress and 
white wraps. 

“ What a long stroll you must have taken ! I 
have been watching the moonlight on the water. 
Is it very late ?” 

‘‘ Oh, not very. I didn’t feel sleepy, and these 
rooms are so close at night. Have you been asleep ?” 

“ No, I didn’t feel tired once I got up here away 
from the glare and heat. How noisy it is down 
stairs !” 

‘‘ You don’t enjoy crowds, it seems to me. But I 
think, dear, that you ought to go to bed when you 
come up. The night air is cold, and you may get 
malaria or some of the complaints that are so prev- 
alent.” 

“ Well, only it is more lonely lying awake than 
sitting up. 

“ Why, go to sleep. You are perfectly safe here. 
You needn’t lock the door, and I can come in with- 
out disturbing you.” 

She turned as he finished and walked to the win- 
dow. It was open, the curtains were pulled aside, 
and the moonlight fell on her slight figure, produc- 
ing a curious effect. Mr. Travers watched her for 
some seconds, then he went and put his arms 
around her. She shrank a little from the contact. 


44 


DIVORCE. 


his clothes were redolent of stale tobacco, and then 
repenting, she clasped her arms around his neck 
and laid her head upon his breast. Her face was 
white, her lips were trembling, her eyes were dila- 
ted and suffused. He kissed her passionately, emo- 
tion made her exquisitely beautiful, like a flower 
opening its petals to the dewy air. 

“ What is it, Constance, my love, tell me ?” 

“ I don’t know,” she said faintly. 

Nor did she discover what troubled her although 
she lay awake until daylight, watching the hand- 
some, sleeping face beside her. But after that she 
did as she was told, going to bed, and sleeping or 
lying awake with her thoughts until he came. He 
thanked her sincerely for thus saving him anxiety 
on her account, and told her that she was a model 
little wife. Constance tried hard to feel what he 
said with proper appreciation of the compliment. 


IV. 

One afternoon, when Constance came down to 
meet her husband, she found her mother on the 
piazza talking to a group of new-comers. Con- 
stance had on a delicate white lawn, and as she 
approached all eyes turned to the slender young 
figure with an unconscious look of admiration in 
them that gladdened the mother’s heart. The arrival 
of the strangers had been heralded. Mr. Whiting 
was a short, stout gentleman of no particular type. 
His features were lost in flesh, his eyes were dull 
and indefinite, and his hair was darkened with oil. 
He had short, pudgy hands and they never ceased 
in their motions — now pulling his mustache, now 
twirling a cane that in form resembled its owner, 
now swinging a charm on his heavy chain, and 
again softly patting each other. He watched Con- 
stance while she and Mrs. Whiting exchanged plati- 
tudes. Mrs. Whiting had been a Miss Leavitt, her 
45 


40 


DIVORCE. 


sister, Miss Cora Leavitt, was seated near her. 
The sisters bore a strong resemblance to each other, 
but while Cora was an undeniable beauty, Mrs. 
Whiting was considered plain-looking. Cora had 
golden hair, brilliant gray eyes, and a lovely com- 
plexion. Mrs. Whiting had lost her complexion, 
her eyes were worn and sunken, and her dull fair 
hair had been gradually crimped aAvay, and the 
added braids and puffs looked what they certainly 
were — pinned on. Both sisters were exquisitely 
dressed and wore a profusion of diamonds. A few 
feet away a French nurse in a black dress and white 
cap was carrying an infant, and attempting to quiet 
the romping of two sturdy boys in gray tunics. 

“ And you were in Europe three years ?” said Mrs. 
Morgan to Mrs. Whiting, with the idea of drawing 
Constance into the conversation with proper en- 
lightenment. Constance raised her head, and for a 
second her eyes rested on Mrs. Whiting with an 
expression of sudden and decided interest. As she 
looked away she caught Mr. Whiting’s fixed stare, 
and she flushed at the reflection that he had read ^ 
her thoughts. 

But he did not, having no key to a mind like | 
hers. He twirled his mustache, and threw in a re- i 
mark now and then, and admired the girl in front • 


DIVORCE. 


47 


of him, and Constance listened with an occasional 
smile or reply to a long, rambling account of palaces 
and pictures, and wondered why people always saw 
exactly the same places and things, and — why the 
boat from New York did not arrive. 

Suddenly, in the midst of an effective description 
of a storm at sea, Mrs. Whiting stopped to exclaim, 
gushingly : 

Mon Dieu ! what a handsome man! Who is 
he?” 

It was Mr. Travers. He was coming directly 
toward them, and with his head erect, his hat off,, 
the light on his wavy hair, and his fine figure show- 
ing to its best advantage in a well-made blue flan- 
nel suit, he undoubtedly called forth sincere admir- 
tion. 

Of course everybody looked, and Constance stood 
up, flushing prettily, and advanced to meet him. 
He bent to kiss her fondly, drew her hand to his 
arm, and they joined the group on the piazza. 
Once comfortably seated there, Mr. Travers was in 
no hurry to seek the retirement of his own rooms. 
Constance was now happy, and let her eyes and 
thoughts become absorbed by the children in the 
distance. The conversation was not one in which 
she cared to join. The gentlemen were discussing; 


48 


DIVOBCE. 


yachts, and the ladies had reached the cost and 
annoyance of dress. 

Constance wished in her heart that she could be 
in her own home, she disliked Mr. Whiting’s side 
rstare at her while he directly addressed Gilbert, his 
wife’s hollow laugh grated upon her nerves, she felt 
the affectation in her mother’s voice, and it worried 
her. Why could not her mother act and talk 
naturally ? Why did she not depend upon what 
she was for recognition and appreciation instead of 
thus seeking to attract notice by the display of 
borrowed charms ? 

There was a general rising and leave-taking. 
The Whitings had a cottage at the Branch and 
Mrs. Morgan was accepting all sorts of hospitalities 
for herself and her daughter. 

“ Constance, you might look a little brighter over 
it,” Mrs. Morgan remarked as the Whitings disap- 
peared. “ They were really more than polite to us, 
and you know they are very exclusive people. 
They’ve invited us to dinner next Sunday, and they 
are getting up a pleasure party for next week. You 
must have a white yachting dress. We might go up 
to-morrow morning with Gilbert and get it, or do 
you think you could trust Miss Perkins if you wrote 
for it.” 


BIVOBCE. 


49 


Oh, yes, she will know exactly what to send 
me.” 

“You are so indifferent, child. Another girl 
would be delighted at the prospect of so much 
pleasure in such society.” 

Mr. Travers laughed ; he put his hand on his 
wife’s arm. “ Constance does’nt look much im- 
pressed by their superiority.” 

“No, and she always shows exactly what she 
thinks. It isn’t right to let people see that you 
don’t want to know them.” 

“ Ma, I didn’t intend to be rude. Was I Gilbert ? 

“Not at all! You acted very nicely and quietly, 
I thought. They certainly didn’t take offense; 
they’ve proposed any number of meetings with us, 
so perhaps your manner attracted instead of repel- 
ling them.” 

“ It must be lovely to be able to choose one’s 
friends 1” said Constance, clasping her hands. 

“ The Whitings wouldn’t be on your list,” said 
Gilbert. 

“ A pretty list yours would be !” cried Mrs. Mor- 
gan. “ About a dozen persons would satisfy you. 
Gilbert first and last, of course. But, Con., you 
ought to think of Gilbert’s interests if you have 
none of your own.” 


50 


DIVOBCE. 


Constance glanced at Gilbert, flushing painfully. 
“ I don’t understand you. How can the Whitings 
benefit Gilbert? Surely we don’t want anything 
from them.” 

“No, but they are wealthy and influential, and 
such friends are a great advantage to a young man. 
You saw how he made an impression upon them at 
once.” 

Constance blushed and Gilbert looked inquiringly 
from her to her mother. Mrs. Morgan laughed 
archly : “ Why, Mrs. Whiting thinks you very hand- 
some.” 

“ I’m sorry I can’t return the compliment,” was 
the careless answer. 

“ Well, of course, she is faded. It is hard for a 
woman to do her duty to her husband and children 
and society and not show the wear and tear. Still, 
she is very attractive.” 

“Yes, her conversation is interesting and I think 
her manner is pleasant. But Constance would be 
perfectly happy if we never saw the Whitings 
again.” 

“ Yes, I would ! I never cared for Cora Leavitt, 
never, and that is the sister who married — ” She 
stopped and bit her lips. 

“ Well, what about it ? Go on — you can tell us, 


DIVOIiCE. 


51 


I’m sure. Oh, now I remember what you mean — 
child. To be sure. Why that is no secret. Why, 
Gilbert, Miss Leavitt was engaged to a young fel- 
low and he jilted her — and she married Mr. Whiting 
within a month.” 

“ Married from spite, eh ! Oh, well — that is not 
unusual. She may be just as happy with him as 
she would have been with the other ?” 

^‘Why Gilbert?” 

‘'Why Constance ! a woman who could marry one 
man to spite another is not capable of much deli- 
cacy or depth of feeling. Love was secondary to 
her pride. P’shaw — such women are not worth pity- 
ing!” 


“ And Mr. Whiting looks as if he enjoyed himself 
on the whole,” laughed Mrs. Morgan. “ I fancy 
when people have everything that money can buy 
they don’t miss romance.” 

“ I didn’t say I pitied Mrs. Whiting — Gilbert — 
and Ma— for all you or I know, Mr. WTiiting may 
love his wife.” 

“ Constance is orthodox,” said Gilbert. “ Only 
love can deserve love.” 

■ “ Yes, but love is a very small part of a man’s 

life,” said Mrs. Morgan--musingly. “ Now-a’days, 
people are terribly practical.” 




52 


DIVORCE. 


“Yes, sentiment is very well, but there are solid 
pleasures to be had for money,” agreed Gilbert, 
laughing at his wife’s expression of mingled surprise 
at his words and doubts of their sincerity. Of 
course he was teasing her — but she wished he would 
find another subject for his jokes. 

A visit to the Whiting’s Cottage disarmed Con- 
stance of an old prejudice. One that had remained 
in her mind ever since one bright Winter morning, 
years before, when seated on her desk and sur- 
rounded by her school-mates, Cora Leavitt had re- 
hearsed the particulars of her sister’s marriage to 
Tom Whiting. “ Fatty ” Whiting as she elegantly 
named him. 

The “ cottage ” was a small hotel, wide, cool and 
roomy, furnished for comfort, and innocent of the 
slightest attempt at ostentatious display. The 
visitors found Mr. Whiting sitting on the piazza, a 
cigar in his mouth, a boy on each knee and his busy 
hands occupied in unravelling the tail of a gorgeous 
Japanese kite. Mrs. Whiting sat a few yards away 
bending over a brilliant smoking cap and Miss 
Leavitt could be seen in the shaded parlor playing 
at an upright piano. 

Constance had always nursed a pet sorrow ; being 
the youngest, she knew nothing of little children to" 


DIVORCE. 


love and play with, excepting her many cousins, 
nephews and nieces, and they had never been in the 
house with her. Children had for her a charm that 
she could not describe in words, they were like a 
lovely story that never could be finished. The boys 
unasked brought her the kite the moment she was 
seated, and soon after, Mr. Travers and Miss Leavitt 
having gone to the piano, she went up to the nur- 
sery with Mrs. Whiting to see her baby girl. 

Mrs. Whiting improved on acquaintance and a 
home setting brought out her charms to great ad- 
vantage. She was very graceful and her white- 
house dress had a softening effect on her appear- 
ance ; she wore less hair than when in visiting cos- 
tume, ^nd no jewelry whatever except a few 
diamond rings on her small wax-like hands. Her 
eyes had a more womanly tenderness in them, and 
she smiled as Constance took the baby from its 
nurse and sat down to enjoy fondling it. 

“You like children,” she said finally. 

“ Yes, indeed !” 

Well, I do, but I dread having them grow up. 
If they would only stay little and lovable !” 

Constance laughed at the conceit. Its absurdity 
struck her so much that she, said nothing. Mrs. 
Whiting sighed and began moving some books on 


DIYORCE. 


54 


the table and Constance saw that they were small 
volumes in colored paper covers. “If one could 
shut one’s eyes to the responsibilities of life, it 
would be worth living,” she said quietly but firmly. 

“ I thought that accepting them and trying to do 
our best with them was what made life worth living,” 
Constance said, glancing up from the baby’s face to 
its mother’s. 

“ How old are you ?” 

“Eighteen.” 

“You still go to church?” 

“ Why yes.” 

Mrs. Whiting laughed mockingly. “ You are still 
at the theorizing age. Wait my dear, until the re- 
sponsibilities are upon you and you have to reduce 
your theories to practice. I had lovely theories of 
life when I was eighteen. Oh, my God !” 

She turned to the window, Constance put the 
baby in the nurse’s arms and followed Mrs. Whiting. 

“ Oh — Mrs. Whiting, what did I say ! — I didn’t 
mean ?” 

“ Oh, you did nothing — you said nothing — but 
you looked so sweet, so innocent sitting there — you 
brought back the past. You see, I never was as 
beautiful as you are — but I was once eighteen — I 
had visions — ” She began to sob. 


DIVORCE, 


55 


“ What will the ntirse think Constance whis- 
pered. 

‘ Oh, she — she i{5 used to my changes of humor. 
She cannot speak English, she thinks I am crying 
for a jewel or a dress. Let me have my cry out. 
I’ll feel better then. Come into my room.” 

She drew Constance into the next room, and they 
stood together in the wide window ; one woman cry- 
ing, the other ready to cry in sympathy for the grief 
that she could not understand. 

“ There — that’s over. Now I’ll bathe my eyes, and 
come back to the charming present.” Another sneer- 
ing laugh shocked Constance. Mrs. Whiting poured 
water into a basin, bathed her eyes, and then having 
dried them carefully she powdered her face and 
came back to the window. 

Constance was looking down on the lawn where 
the two men were standing together. Gilbert was 
fanning himself with his hat, Mr. Whiting had 
pushed back his, had stuck his hands in his pockets 
and was looking as ugly and ungraceful as was prob- 
ably possible. Mrs. Whiting put her arm around 
Constance. 

“My dear, what possessed you to marry?” 

Constance flushed, and unconsciously drew away 
from the light touch resting on her shoulders. 


56 


DIVOEGEL 


I see, well — ” she sighed deeply. “ God help the ' 
woman that loves a man nowadays — ” 

Maude ! ” it was Miss Leavitt^s voice at the door. 
“Maude, you’ll have to attack those accompani- 
ments. Mr. Travers sings too well for my execu- 
tion. Come down and we’ll have a musical treat. 
Constance, what a treasure you picked up ! I wish 
I had such a husband ! I can tell you, I would ap- 
preciate him.” 

“I don’t think he’ll suffer for lack of worship,” 
said Mrs. "Whiting. “Shall we go down?” 

“I must see the baby again,” said Constance. 

“ If you want any books to kill time with, call on 
me,” said Mrs. Whiting, following her into the nur- 
sery. “ Of course you read French.” 

“I should but I generally prefer translations, they 
are so much better than anything I could do.” 

“I don’t know about that,' any piece of literary 
work loses by translation. I have just finished this 
book. Take it with you, and tell me what you think 
of it.” 

Constance took it from her hand and held it while 
Mr. Travers sang solos, and then duets with Miss 
Leavitt, Mrs. "Whiting playing exqidsitely for them. 
The voices harmonized well, Constance could have 
listened forever, but it seemed to her that Mr. Wlii- 


DIVOE€E. 


57 


ting and Mrs. Morgan, altliongh polite, were indif- 
ferent auditors. 

*I hope you will 'Come to us whenever you feel 
hke singing,” Mrs. Whiting said, on the piazza as 
her guests were leaving. “I enjoy playing accom- 
paniments, and Cora misses some one to sing with. 
I know just how musicians suffer at times. They 
want to sing, but there is no one to play, or the 
music is mislaid, or the instrument is poor.” 

‘‘ Everything here is perfect,” Gilbert said, with a 
quick glance at Mrs. Whiting’s hands. I only wish 
I could do justice to the surroundings.” 

“Mr. Travers is modest,” said Miss Leavitt, smil- 
ing archly. 

“Maude, what an acquisition for our musicals, 
next winter ! ” she cried as soon as the guests were 
beyond the gate. 

“Yes, I thought of that, his voice is beautiful.” 

“I wish I could play for you, like that, Gilbert,” 
Constance said, as they sauntered along toward the 
hotel. 

He .aughed as he answered her. 

“It would take an immensity of practice." 

“Yes, I know it, even if I had as much talent os 
she has.” 

“Why you play very well, Constance,” Mrs. Mor- 


58 


DIVORCE. 


gan said sharply. “ I didn’t notice anything remark- 
able abont Mrs. Whiting’s playing.” 

‘‘Her touch is remarkably delicate,” Gilbert said, 
carelessly, and then he changed the subject, ^t 
would have been losing time to discuss piano -forte 
playing with a person who considered noise and 
velocity the tests of skilL^Constance was'pSnning 
hours, and lessons from a teacher to be recom- 
mended by Mrs Whiting. It would be lovely to 
play well enough to satisfy Gilbert. 

The next morning, while waiting for him in her 
mother’s little sitting-room, Constance opened the 
French book. There was a short preface, and he 
came to her side while she was slowly mastering it. 
In a second he had taken the book out of her hands. 
He looked surprized and angry. 

“Where did you get this?” 

“Mrs. Whiting lent it to me!” 

“H’m — so she reads — did you ever read anything 
by this author?” His eyes met his wife’s search- 
ingly. Constance was stiU sitting, looking up at 
him, amazed and worried by his angry earnestness. 
She shook her head. 

“I never even heard of him, Gilbert.’' 

“I suppose you’ve only read the text books that 
are used in schools,” 


DIVOBCE. 


59 


“Why, yes, we all promised Miss Dunham t© keep 
up our French, and she gave us a list of books to 
translate, but — ’’ He began to laugh, and Con- 
stance smiled again. 

“Well, for a few years to come, you must consult 
Miss Dunham’s list before you read a French book. 
Don’t attempt any author that she has omitted.” 

“What shall I say to Mrs. Whiting, Gilbert?” 

“ Tell her that you — that you couldn’t translate it.” 

“That is not true — I can read it.” 

“Well — let me see — it wouldn’t do to insult the 
woman. What the devil does she mean by giving 
you such a book to read ! ” 

“Oh, Gilbert!” 

“Well, I can tell you that she isn’t going to get 
the impression that you read anything of the kind. 
I’ll return the book this evening. I’ll be quite cool 
then and I can manage to do it without offending 
her.” 

“Have you read it?” 

“Oh, yes, young men read everything. Now .1 
suppose, by saying so much, I have simply raised 
your curiosity about the story. Perhaps you would 
like to see what it is that I object to having you 
read. Is it so ? ” 

“ I’m very sorry I ever saw it or touched it. See,” 


DIYOECE. 


she put her hand under the table cover; ‘4eave it 
here until evening. Let us forget about it.” 

He put the book in his pocket.' Constance flushed 
and withdrew her hand. 

“ I’ll amuse myself looking over it in the boat— 
it is years since I read it.” He spoke with affected 
carelessness and turned to the door. “ I must be off 
or I’ll miss everything.” Constance sat perfectly 
still. He bent over her but she did not stir. 

“ Come, you’re not offended are you ? No an- 
swer. Well, if you like to be sullen why indulge 
the fancy.” 

He left the room, Constance went back to her 
own. 

If there is any pleasure to be derived from exper- 
iencing a new sensation, Constance was now in fuU 
enjoyment of it. Her hands were cold, her cheeks 
burning, she could not cry, yet she felt like suffo- 
^ eating. In that moment of voiceless, indignant 
protest against being misunderstood and misjudged, 
she began to realize her utter helplessness as a 
woman, her powerlessness to be happy if her hus- 
^ ^ band chose to make her miserable. Gilbert could 
doubt her honesty. He had not said it in words, 
but he had looked and actd?I it. Gilbert had 
wounded her, and all because an acquaintance of a 


DIVOECE. 


61 


week had loaned her a book. What was to become 
of her and him if an outsider could thus, by such a 
simple act, cause them so much wretchedness ? 
While wondering if she could get her mother to re- 
turn to the city, the door was opened and that lady 
came in and took a chair comfortably by the win- 
dow. She was too excited by the contemplation of 
the new addition to her circle to notice her daugh- 
ter’s face. 

‘‘ I have been thinking, Constance, of putting off 
your Aunt Alice’s visit until next month. It will 
make no difference with her, and you and I do bet- 
ter alone with new friends. Alice is so very curi- 
ous, and so fond of finding out people’s weak 
points.” 

“I would Like to go home, ma, now, to-day.” 

“ Why, Constance ?” 

“ Oh, these people are too much for me. I do 
not comprehend them or their ways, and I would 
rather not do it if I could !” 

‘‘Why, they are elegant people, Constanoe. They 
live on their money, they are educated, cultivated, 
the very people that I have always wished to know. 
By-the-way, how very quietly their rooms are fur- 
nished !” 


62 


DIVOBCE. 


“Yes, the colors are subdued — nothing is prom- 
inent.” 

“ Ours are positively vulgar by contrast. How- 
ever, I can soon change them. Your father thinks 
them too glaring. We’ll have the gold in the fres- 
coing toned down, and get new carpets and furni- 
ture covering — ” 

“Yes, ma.” 

“ Your house will be just the thing. I didn’t ap- 
preciate your good taste then, but now I see that 
you do observe.” 

“ Do I ? I’m sure I don’t know whether I do’ or 
not. Pa told me to please myself and Gilbert liked 
what I did. I wish pa were here dr one of the 
girls !” 

“Now don’t propose that, Constance. Your sis- 
ters haven’t the means to come here properly, and 
to have them as they are, wth ordinary nurses, and 
a pack of strong, badly-dressed children, would 
never do — ^never ! We’d never get another invita- 
tion from the Whitings.” 

“ Then I wish that all my brothers and sisters 
and their children and the ordinary nurses were 
here !” 

“ Why, you’re crying, Constance ?” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder. I’m going out in the air.” 


DIVOECE. 


63 


So she went, and Mrs. Morgan hugged her happi- 
ness until luncheon, while Constance made friends 
with the little children on the piazza, and longed 
for the heavy hours to pass. At the usual time 
Mr. Travers arrived, carrying a big bouquet, which 
Constance accepted with his kiss, her eyes down- 
cast, her lips quivering. After dinner, he strolled 
alone toward the cottage. Mrs. Whiting was in the 
parlor, dressed for a ball-room. She gave Mr. 
Travers her little hand. 

“ I’m waiting for Cora. Aren’t you going to the 
hop at the — ? ” 

‘‘Oh, yes — ” He sat down soon producing the 
book. 

“I love to dance.” 

“So do I.” 

“ What have you there ? ” 

“You mustn’t tempt my little wife with thede 
French bon-bons.” She seemed amused. 

“Are they too sweet for her ? ” 

“I think so — ^yes.” 

“I don’t know about that. Tour wife is blessed, 
or cursed with a soul. She might find some useful 
ideas in that very book.” 

“ Possibly, but she is very happy with her limited 
knowledge of human nature. These very natural 


64 


DIVORCE. 


characters would simply bewilder her. With her, 
what isn’t good is bad. She must live a few years 
longer, before she can take a charitable view of peo- 
ple who require any allowance to be made for them.” 
^ou prefer to have ignorance bliss? ” 




you ever see a child force open a rose-bud ? 


'The bud is ruined, yet there is no perfect blossom. 
If she could gain what is worth having from these 
.books, it would simply burden her.” 

“Well, of course you understand her better than 
I do. Is she coming to the hop ? ” 

“Oh, yes. You’ll find us there, almost before 


you. 


But he lingered awhile to discuss the book and 
when he reached the hotel, Constance did not seem 
anxious to dress for the occasion, at a few minutes’ 
notice. Gilbert’s manner puzzled her. She did not 
realize that while she had spent the day brooding 
over her wounded sense of justice, he had been 
busy and absorbed in matters that required his 
wdiol^ attention. Did he forget that he had dis- 
trusted her, and called her sullen ? Evidently, for 
he looked and spoke as usual, and expected her to 
do likewise. He whistled and waltzed about the 
room as he talked and dressed. 

“ Come, Dot, look your prettiest. I hope those 


DIVORCE. 


65 


ladies dance well ; but no doubt they do. Your 
mother will be ready before you. Don’t wear that 
blue dress, get a white one. White suits you bet- 
ter than any color. Con., you wear some of the 
flowers I brought you — ? Let me help you with 
your dress and that trunk. Where are your dia- 
monds?” 

“Ma has them — will you — ” 

“Yes, I’ll get them for you.” 

Constance sat down as he closed the door after 
him, and breathed hard for some seconds. Her 
self-control was nearly exhausted, another careless 
remark, and she would have given way to bitter 
tears. Something told her that he would have been 
simply surprised at her emotion, he certainly could 
have no idea of what she was suffering, and if she 
should try to tell him would he understand her and 
sympathize with her? When he came back, she 
was standing at the glass, pinning the lace at her 
throat. She was determined to keep back tears 
and explanations, but he put the chain and cross 
around her neck, and then looked fixedly at her. 
Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. 

“Why, Dot!” 

“ Oh, Gilbert, I have been miserable all day — ” 


66 


BIYOBCE. 


Why? because you wcmldn’t. kiss me good-bye, 
this morning ?” 

She was silent. “ Why, I had forgotten 
it wasn’t that altogether, Gilbert — you might 
have had confidence in me.” An angry expression 
flashed in his eyes. 

Oh, pshaw, Constance. Why •will you bring up 
unpleasant things? The thing is done, now — let it 
go ! To tell the truth, if I had supposed that you 
would hare taken the matter so much to heart, I 
would have left the damned •' book on the table. 
^ And another thing,. Constance, you are so innocent, 
and so thoroughly ig norant , that you might read 
[ libraries 6f such books, and-they •wouldn’t make the 
I faintest impression upon you. You would still cling 
to your simple principles of right and wrong. I 
was wrong. Now, are you satisfied? If you had 
some of the worldly wisdom that those very books 
inculcate, you would never rake up disagreeable 
subjects with a man, particularly with your husband. 
^ A lan’s wife must not become his judge. It is bad 
enough to be in fault, without having to plead 
guilty—” 

“ Oh, Gilbert, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

She put her arms siround his neck, and he whisp- 


DIYORCE, 


67 


ered the end of his sentence, with her face pressed 
to his. 

“Even to such a dear little figure of justice and 
mercy combined as you are.” 

So they went to the ball, but Constance could not 
feel that she had had justice from Gilbert, or even 
sympathy, although she had suffered so keenly. 
Mrs. Morgan however enjoyed the evening, even if 
her daughter was very reserved and delicate looking. 
Somehow, Constance was always very interesting, 
whether pale or flushed, quiet or gay. Then the 
Whitings joined the trio, and the next day the re- 
porters mentioned both families as “a party,” and 
gave the value of the diamonds, worn by the ladies 
of the “party” at a fabulous figure, and drew heav- 
ily on their stock of French and English adjectives, 
to describe the personal charms of Mrs. John Mor- 
gan, her daughter, a lovely young bride, and so on. 
It was an evening that Constance would have liked 
to forget. Gilbert devoted himself to the sisters, 
and left his wife to the persistent and disagreeable 
attentions of Mr, Whiting. She controlled herself 
until she was back in her own room, but when Gil- 
bert had left her for “a final cigar,” she cried her- 
self to sleep. 


V. 


Mr. Morgan was not charmed by the incidents 
that delighted his wife. He made his weekly visits 
to the Branch, to find Coijstance dull and reserved, 
his wife very intimate at the ‘‘Cottage,” and his 
son-in-law enjoying yachting parties with Mr. Whi- 
ting and his many friends, and in turn entertaining 
them with costly little suppers. Finding his wife 
blind to the absurdities of the situation, he one day 
asked Constance to walk vith him ; determined to 
open her girlish eyes to what she clearly did not 
see. He found it difficult to broach the subject, 
yet when he looked at her and thought how he had 
taken care of her, he felt compelled to impress upon 
her some of the responsibilities that she had so 
lovingly assumed. 

“I wish you were in your own little house, daugh- 
ter.” he began, with an attempt at carelessness of 

68 


DIYOECE. 


69 


manner, for he had a wish to penetrate her strange 
reserve. 

“ Oh, pa, I do, too!” 

“Then, why are you not there? I am sure Gilbert 
is willing to do as you wish.” 

She was silent. 

“ Perhaps you haven’t proposed coming home ?” 

No answer, but the girl flushed and looked straight 
ahead. He spoke to cover her embarrassment. 

“Of course it is very charming here, and you are 
both young, and as yet, without any cares, still, you 
know, dear, I am a very practical individual ; I be- 
lieve in common sense more than in good fortune. 
For instance, I think that young couples should live 
within their means, no matter what expectations they 
may have. Gilbert is on a salary, you know exactly 
wFat it is. Do you suppose he is saving anything, 
just at present? You needn’t ansvrer my questions, 
dear, I am asking them to set you thinking. Until 
now you have never had to think about where your 
money came from. ^ That has been quite right. 
What I gave you was yours to ''^end„ but your hus- 
band’s money is a trust. You should Jknow to a 
dollar w^^t you and he can afford to live upon, you 
should lay it out carefully, and enjoy doing so, and 
what he saves should be properly invested.-^' Judg- 


70 


DIVOECE. 


ing from my own experience, Constance, I do not 
think it wise to court the intimacy of people who 
are so much better off than you are. Your mother 
didn’t begin her life in that way, and I wish she 
had never commenced it-. Now, these people may 
be very pleasant and all that, but they are not going 
a step out of their way to make your acquaintance. 
They live on inherited wealth, and their habits are 
extravagant. In attempting to keep up with them, 
you are liable to become involved in unnecessary 
expenses. I hope, dear, that you will understand 
me. You and Gilbert are lovers, you haven’t had 
time to grow tired of each other, and your first duty 
is to yourselves. If you are consistent you will win 
respect, and respect gains friends. You have always 
been a sensible girl, more like myself, I think, in 
your ways of thinking than any other child of mine; 
and I feel that I can talk freely to you without 
wounding you.” 

“Pa, I should think that Gilbert would reason 
exactly as you do. We’ll come home.” 

“No doubt he does; but he is young, and he may 
feel that you are very happy here, and would not 
care to go back to a quiet home in town. Certainly, 
the excitement here is tremendous. You haven’t 
time to reflect — eh ? ” 


DIVORCE. 


71 


“ I cannot understand people, pa.” 

‘‘"VYell, it is only necessary to understand your- 
self and Gilbert. You must consult your own inter- 
ests and liappiness first.” 

Constance did not find it easy to understand Gil- 
bert, wben sbe proposed going home. He seemed 
surprised, amused, and finally annoyed at the idea. 
He was having an enjoyable time, his health re- 
quired that he should have such relaxation after a 
close attention to business during the day, and he 
ignored, completely, her wishes to know all about 
their pecuniary affairs. 

“ It is all very well to be practical and business- 
like,” he said, and when we commence housekeep- 
ing you can develop your talents in that way, but 
you’re not going to worry your little head over 
money matters now. Surely, Constance, you trust 
me?” 

“ But I want to do right, Gilbert, and I thought 
you might possibly suppose that I would rather not 
think about money and how to use it.” 

“Well, I don’t believe you have had much to' do 
with such questions so far.” 

“ That IS very true.” 

“ Oh — well — when the time comes we’ll talk it 
over. Just at present — we have nothing to do but 


72 


DIVOBCE. 


enjoy ourselves. We’ll see New York time enough. 
You’ll be thoroughly tired of housekeeping by next 
June, and glad to leave it for a few months.” 

‘‘ I don’t think so. I always enjoyed imagining 
myself with a dear little house to manage.” 

He laughed at her earnestness. 

“And did you imagine me in it?” She looked 
troubled. 

“ Why, no.” 

“ So I don’t resemble the ideal ‘ Lord and Mas- 
ter’ of the castle.” 

“ But, indeed, it hadn’t one.” 

“ So you were a happy little hermit in fancy?” 

“ I suppose I must have been. AVhat a comical 
idea of life a child has ! It is so unlike the reality.” 

“ I don’t quite understand you — ” 

“ It is so limited, so centred on a few interests. 
Now, it seems impossible to do justice to each, 
there are so many to consider.” 

“ Mine, for instance ; the hermit days are over.” 

He left her to join a card party, and Constance 
amused herself as she often did now, dreaming of 
the days to come when they two would be allowed 
to have their evenings to themselves. Constance 
found companionship in these pleasures of imagin- 
ation, and gladly saw the days pass so quickly, they 


DIVORCE. 


-73 


could not do it too rapidly. She was growing impa- 
tient of the observances and restraints of this public 
existence, this sense of constant scrutiny and criti- 


It endQd as even an unpleasant thing must, and 
the Travers’ took possession of their house in the 
city. Constance felt like a person who leaves a 
balloon for the solid earth. Now she could test 
her powers, now indeed she could exert her ability, 
her talents and her love in making Gilbert the hap- 
piest man on earth. The Whitings were going to 
remain away for an indefinite period. 

“ We are losing the life of the party,” was Mrs. 
Whiting’s parting comment. 

The pleasures of the imagination are apt to cause 
a certain exaltation of the whole being, and when 
its hopes are not realized the depression will be^ \ 
correspondingly extreme. Wh-en Constance had j 
been married about ten months she began to suffer 
from a sense of mental unrest, she was surrounded 
by the ghosts of unsatisfied desires, and could not 
succeed in grasping the substance. 

X One evening the Lacys, feeling very fresh and 
gay, thought it a nice opportunity to call on Gilbert 
and Constance, and have a pleasant time generally. 
The Lacys were never at a loss for home amuse- 


J 


74 


PITORCE. 


ment, and an evening that did not repay them for 
the trouble of going out, was in their opinion an 
evening thrown away. They reached the house and 
heard music in the parlor, but Constance was alone. 
She had a pile of difficult pieces beside her, but she 
rose from the piano slowly and wearily, and her 
pale face didn’t brighten when she recognized her 
visitors. She was fond of them, yet at that moment 
she would have been better pleased if they had not 
found her sad and by herself. 

Mr. Lacy talked for three, Constance smiled at 
his kindly meant fun, and finally asked him to sing. 
The elaborate songs were replaced in the case, and 
several of a more popular character substituted. 
After a few moments Mrs. Lacy saw that her hus- 
band was standing erect and singing with spirit and 
unusually well. The song ended, he looked down 
at his niece. 

Why, Constance ! my dear child, how you have 
improved ! You play delightfully. I could sing all 
night to such an accompaniment.” 

“ Is that really so, Uncle Frank ?” She flushed 
and kept her eyes fixed on the keys. “ I wish I 
could think so myself.” 

“ You have made me very jealous,” said her aunt, 
laughingly. 


DIVORCE. 


75 


“ WeU, I’ve worked very hard all winter, auntie, 
but I don’t know, my hands are not as strong as 
they should be, and I often grow discouraged in 
spite of my teacher’s compliments.” 

“ Why, whB-t has Gilbert to say ? He must notice 
the change in your touch. There are very few girls 
who would practice to, such an extent to please a 
husband; a lover, you know^ is quite a different 
being.” He nodded at Constance and turned to 
find another song. “ I’ll tell you what. Con., if Gil- 
bert won’t be jealous. I’ll come around whenever I 
feel bird-like, and tax your patience for an hour.” 

Oh, indeed, I wish you woxdd. Uncle Frank 1 
It would give me confidence to play for you, you 
have the faculty of encouraging me.” 

“ That would be very nice if you needed the en- 
couragement he laughed, and they all became 
gay and talkative over the music. It was late when 
the Lacys said ** good-night.” Constance stood on 
the stoop for some minutes after they left. The 
pretty street was quiet in the moonlight ; it was a 
warm night, and the air was sweet and fresh with 
April delicacy, and grateful after the close, lighted 
parlor. Constance was in the habit when depressed 
of asking herself if the fanit was in herself. Her 
family now attributed every change in her spirits 


76 


DIVOBCE. 


and appearance to h.er pliysical condition. Con- 
stance doubted very mncli that her health was re- 
sponsible for her mental and spiritual struggles. 
She was troubled about several things, all import- 
ant to her, although seeming very trivial when Gil- 
bert riddled them with his arguments. But she 
could not regard them as he did. Her religious 
education had imposed upon her the duty of self- 
examination. Her duty to God, to her husband, and 
her family was a subject of regular thought, and her 
earnest endeavors to perform it, made up her life. 
So far it had not occurred to her that she had a 
duty to herself, but she was often of late impressed 
with the conviction that her duty to God was not 
performed as it had been before her marriage. 
What Gilbert exacted as her duty to him did not 
accord with her old ideas of truth and honesty in 
the sight of God, and she often prayed to God with 
her whole heart, and felt that she was not deserving 
of the blessing she desired. The effort to act con- 
scientiously herself, and to have faith in her hus- 
Dand’s honesty of mind and purpose, was wearing 
her out. She was bewildered by the vast difference 
between theory and practice, and at a loss to recon- 
cile the co-existence in one individual of a perfect 
theory and a false practice. It was a problem that 


/ 


DIVORCE. 


77 


was beyond her. Gilbert was good, she- loved him; 
he must be right! She thought over what had 
happened just before the Lacys came in. Gilbert 
had asked her to play for him. The song was a new 
one, and Constance, in her nervous anxiety to play 
well, struck several wrong keys. 

“Pshaw!” he said. “You don’t make anything 
out of that. You should hear Mrs. Whiting play it.” 

Then Constance tried to do better, but there was 
a mist before her eyes, her hands trembled on the 
keys, she stopped suddenly and began to cry. Gil- 
bert looked at her for a few seconds and then put 
on his hat, and banged the door after him. She 
had thought him unkind then, now, as she lived it 
all over again, for people will live over joys and 
pains ; she tried to put herself in his place. He was 
tired after his day’s work, things, perhaps, had gone 
wrong in spite of him ; she should have exerted 
more self-control, instead of expecting patience 
from him ; he had to earn the money that they lived 
upon and he was in debt, and troubled about the 
fact. Of course, it worried her too, but she was 
not responsible for the money. 

While thus meditating she heard his footsteps 
coming irom the corner. He was walking leisurely 
humming to himself the song that she had not 


78 


DIVOEOR 


played well. A weight seemed taken suddenly off 
her heart, he was not brooding over his cares, he 
was singing merrily and he nodded brightly to her 
as he looked up and saw her face, sweet and earnest 
in the white, quivering light. 

She threw her arms around his neck, when the 
door was shut. 

“ Gilbert, I’m sorry I was so babyish,” 

‘'Never mind — pet. You’re a little goose, to care 
about my remarks. I dont* mean them ill-natur- 
edly. If your teacher criticised you, you would lis- 
ten and profit by what he said.” 

The Lacys had walked the longest way home so 
as to enjoy the night and discuss family topics. 

“Did you really enjoy the visit Frank?” 

“Yes, indeed Hetty, I’m glad we went. You see 
Constance was inclined to be dull and we cheered 
her up.” 

“I wonder Gilbert leaves her in the evening, just 
now. ” 

“ Oh, he may have had business out. A great, 
strong fellow like him can hardly be expected to 
shut himself up inside four walls, such a night as 
this. He had nothing to do with it, he is very 
bright and full of life, she’ll be herself the moment 
he opens the door.” 


DIVORCE. 


79 


What an ideal home theirs is ! They really have 
everything that mortals can desire. When the baby 
comes it will be a complete little paradise. Con- 
stance will make a model mother, she is so fond of 
child:fen, and so sympathetic with them.” 

“Listen, Hetty, I hear music.” 

They went slowly past the house from which the 
sounds came. The parlor floor was brilliantly 
lighted, the windows were open, and the Lacys had 
a full view of Mrs. Whiting sitting at a grand piano 
and Mr. Travers standing near her, singing magnifi- 
cently to her powerful accompaniment. Other per- 
sons were seated here and there, and the whole 
effect was very charming. 

“I forgot that the Whitings lived so near Con- 
stance,” said Mrs. Lacy, after some minutes. 

“ Oh, no, 1 remember hearing Constance say how 
pleasant it was having them so close by. They can 
have a musical evening whenever they feel like it.” 

“They’ve had musicals and private theatricals 
several times, this winter. Constance told me 
about them she enjoyed them so much. Gilbert 
took such a prominent part in them ; but with all, I 
never knew exactly where the Whitings lived.” 

“What a talented, showy fellow, Gilbert is ! He 


80 


DIVORCE. 


onglit to siiit Jessie, exactly; both of them require 
iin audience and applause. Constance is an appre- 
ciative little audience ; but I think she feels too 
- deeply to be very demonstrative.” 

“I know, Gilbert enjoys being complimented. 
Do 3’ou know, Frank, that I have a theory that men 
like Gilbert should remain bachelors.” 

Mr. Lacy laughed out. 

“Oh, you can laugh at me, but really, such a man 
for a husband would frighten me. He is so much 
in himself, so large, so important, so attractive, why, 
he can’t help being vain, and then he needs so much 
to make up his life. He surrounds himself with lux- 
uries, and uses them as we would ordinary com- 
forts.” 

“Well — that is his peculiar nature.” 

“I understand but how' much attention can he 
. devote to Constance when he has got through with 
himself. 

^ “Why, he expects Constance to devote herself to 
[ him, soul and body. She is to be his chief admirer. 
\ Her very worth makes her service all the sweeter to 
j him. The finer the w'oman, the more delicate and 
Y delicious the incense of her love. As I told you 
j before, in selecting a wife, he took the woman whose 
^ possession does him the most honor. He must 


DIVORCE. 


81 


have the best of everything to set forth the perfec- 
tion of his taste.” 

‘•Yet Constance is satisfied — happy.” 

“ Constance is now wrapped np in him. He is a 
great study to her ; his character is a problem to 
her innocent heart, and she is trying to solve 
with only love to help her. One of these days 
girl will discover that her faculties have been dor- 
mant, her own character will puzzle her, her indi- 
viduality will assert itself, she will find herself baf 
tling with giants, rising from her own brain.” 




“You dear, old fellow, how you enjoy studying 
people! But, Frank, I think that peculiarity of 
yours must give you as much pain as pleasure. 
You suffer other persons’ troubles ahead, I am sure.” 

“Perhaps, I often do all the suffering myself, my 
vivid imagination leading me to attribute feelings to 
j^eople that they do not possess. Well, Constance 
may turn out to be a common-place woman, satis- 
fied with the good things that please the senses, 
copying her husband’s views of life, willing to aspire 
no higher than his thoughts can reach.” 

“ But, if she does, you will be disappointed in her.” 

“I shall have been mistaken in my judgment of 
her character.” 

Perhaps, there is no watch so quiet, so compre- 


82 


DIWROE. 


hensive, and so curiously jealous as that kept up by 
different branches of a family upon each other. The 
Travers’ household being the last experiment in that 
line was the interesting mark for observation and 
criticism to the older and more experienced estab- 
lishments. 


YI. 

Mr. Travers talked often and expansively on the 
virtues and talents of his dead and gone relatives, 
but his immediate family consisted of a brother 
whom he described as a sort of harmless rolling- 
stone of no great benefit to himself or society at 
large. 

One afternoon when Constance was entertaining 
some friends in the parlor, this stone rolled uncere- 
moniously in and announced himself as Jack 
Travers. 

Constance rose surprised, a little confused, but 
withal warm and sincere in her welcome. Was he 
not Gilbert’s brother whatever might be his talents 
for perpetual motion ? 

Mr. Travers squeezed her hand in his strong 
grasp, bowed awkwardly to the strangers and finally 
subsided into an easy chair where he remained 
mute and still until her visitors had departed. As 
83 


84 


DIVORCE. 


lie seemed inclined to await Gilbert’s arrival liome, 
Constance asked liim np to lier sitting-room, and 
having taken np some work attempted a conversa- 
tion with him. It was a hopeless task, Mr. Travers 
w^atched her with cnrions earnestness bnt replied to 
her careful questions in monosyllables. He was a 
strange likeness of Gilbert, yet so like him that he 
worried Constance because at the same time the dif- 
ference between the brothers was so clearly defined. 
Jack Travers had no refinement of looks, speech nor 
manners. His clothes were as rough as his general 
air w'as uncouth, his linen was soiled, his tie, worn 
shiny, was carelessly adjusted. Constance had 
never sat in a room with such a specimen of the sex, 
and yet his eyes and his voice attracted her by their 
honesty of expression and sound. Besides, he was 
Gilbert’s brother, the dnly near relative he had. 
But how she wished that Gilbert would come home ! 
Jack’s kind, steady scrutiny was embarrassing to 
say the least. If he had rolled so much surely he 
had seen much, wdiy could he not tell her some- 
thing interesting ? Then she smiled unconsciously 
recalling the end of the proverb. Jack saw the 
smile and he laughed out mtoily. 

“ What a lucky fellow Gil. is !” he cried, the ad- 
miration in his glance fully expressing his meaning. 


DIYORCE. 


- 

“You’ve been married a year I think,” he went on 
after a few minutes. 

“Yery nearly. You have taken a long time to 
come and see me,” said Constance trying to be 
friendly. 

“ I’d have come long ago if I’d known what kind 
of a girl you are. When I heard about you I made 
up my mind that you wouldn’t want to know me, so 
I stayed away. I was in California, I guess, when 
you were married.” 

“Why should I not wish to meet you?” asked 
Constance, turning her eyes full on her brother-in- 
law. 

He colored, hesitated a few seconds and then 
stooped to pick up a skein of wool that she was try- 
ing to wind and keep out of snarls. As he spoke he 
unconsciously stretched the wool on his great rough 
hands and Constance smiled, nodded her pleasure 
and went on winding it easily. 

“ Well, you see when a fellow hasn’t the knack of 
getting on in the world people don’t care to have 
him around showing his poverty. He’s a sort of dis- 
grace to his family — ” , 

“ Because he is poor ? Oh, no, indeed ? Why, 
everyone cannot be rich. Oh, people are not so un- 
just and unkind as that!” 


86 


DIVORCE. 


“You don’t know the world, that’s easy to be- 
seen. Why, Gilbert won’t want to see me. He’ll 
know at once that I want him to lend me money and 
that’ll be enough for him. 1 was promised a situa- 
tion if I’d come here, but n,s usual, another man of- 
fered to do the work for less, and they took him. 
Still if I hold on for a month I may get the place if 
he doesn’t give satisfaction — ” 

Gilbert’s entrance ended the explanation. He 
stook motionless in the door-way, completely con- 
founded at the sight before him. Constance looked 
up, blushing prettily for his surprise and his 
brother’s embarrassment. She had no misgivings 
as to the result of Jack’s visit. Gilbert spoke very 
coldly : 

“Hello Jack! when did you come to the city?” 

“This morning, Gil., I called at the office but you 
were out, so then I came here. I want to speak to 
you—” 

“Well, come down stairs; my wife is not accus- 
■ loomed to business discussions.” 

The brothers went down to the back parlor which 
represented a library. At first their voices sounded 
low and indistinct, soon they rose, high, perfectly 
distinct and angry. 

“ It’s not so 1 I say it isn’t 1 Gil., you’re mistaken. 


■DIVORCE. 


87 


I may be poor, God knows I am now, but I never 
did a thing to disgrace or injure you never ! Turn, 
me out if you like refuse to lend me your money if 
you think it best, but don’t accuse me of doing dirty 
things or lying. By God ! if another man spoke to 
me as you’ve just done, I’d knock him down !” 
Constance was too terrified to move. Then Gil- 
bert’s subdued voice trying to still the storm he had 
raised reached her ears. After a short silence, Gil- 
bert came up to the sitting-room. He was white 
with anger, and he walked back and forth as if de- 
bating a point in his mind. Constance put her arm 
in his. 

Why not lend or give him the money, Gilbert ?” 

He looked angrily at her white, upturned face, 
controlled himself and spoke gently : 

“You know very well, Constance, that I haven’t 
money even to lend just now !” He breathed hard, 
ground his teeth and turned away from her eager 
eyes. “ I’m tired and sick of helping him ! He’s 
twenty-eight years of age and he hasn’t learned yet 
that a man must look out for himself and not expect 
his relatives to share with him, as if they were still 
children with a penny bun.” 

Constance stood quite still, her hands clasped, her 
eyes now down-cast. Gilbert talked rapidly : 


88 


DivorcE. 






‘‘ He has worn out everybody by his shiftless 
habits, no one wants to -employ him, he isn’t dis- 
honest but he’s unreliable. He never takes hold of 
a thing as if he meant to make it go, but holds it as 
if he’d drop it any moment for something else. I 
^ can’t get him work, and I’m not going to let him live 
( upon me. If he can’t earn his supper he can go 
\ hungry !” 

\ “ Did he divide his bun with you when you were 

children, Gilbert, dear?” 

“Oh — yes — he’s generous enough, only now he 
j never has anything to give away.” 

“ The idea of two little brothers growing to be 
men, and one having his dinner and eating it know- 
ing the other to be hungry.” 

“ Phew — are you going to do the emotional over 
a man you never saw until to-day? He has no 
business coming here and upsetting you in this 
way.” 

“ But in a month, he says, he may get a situa- 
tion — ” 

“All bosh—” 

“ Still you ought to help him. For my sake, Gil- 
bert — ” 

“Well — what is your plan?” 

“ Invite him to stay here — ” 


DIVORCE. 


89 


"‘Here! in this house! with us!” 

“ Why, he is your brother. Gilbert. You would 
welcome one of mine,” 

“ That s another matter, the house is yours — ” 

“ Ours, Gilbert. There is room and plenty of 
everything. He will feel better at once, more like 
finding employment.” 

“ Moral support, and all that. Well, Constance, 
if you’re not an extremist, then I know nothing. 
Kemember, it is wholly on your account that I 
agree to having him here.” 

“ But it will be better on everyone’s account. I 
like him ever so much, Gilbert. Now go down and 
bring him up to the spare room, and be good- 
natured with him; that’s a dear old fellow.” 

Arrayed in one of Gilbert’s suits, Jack Travers 
made a very presentable guest, and before dinner 
was over, Gilbert had thawed a little and Constance 
laughed merrily at some of Jack’s experiences. 
Within a week he had made himself welcome at 
every home in the family, even Mrs. Morgan lis- 
tened with pleasure to his gay, natural voice, de- 
scribing scenes and events as interesting as uncom- 
mon. He never was his own hero, another’s actions 
which he saw or took some slight part in were his 
themes ; it never seemed to occur io him that what 


90 


DIVORCE. 


was wholly personal conld be worth mentioning. 
Either successive failure had deprived him of all 
self- appreciation, or he had never possessed sufficient 
i)f that quality to cope fairly with his fellow-beings. 
He was a new character to Constance, he spent a 
great deal of the time in the house, but he never 
was in her way for a moment. He expected no at- 
tention, no entertainment, he read and laughed over 
old books that Constance could not get interested 
in, he was never worried, dull nor nervous, and his 
daily journey in search of employment seemed to 
afford him an amount of amusement that over-bal- 
anced any disappointment that he experienced. 
Mr. Morgan called him a philosopher, and declared 
that with a small, sure income, he would be one of 
the happiest men in the world, and a blessing to his 
discontented, dyspeptic acquaintances. But there 
is no “ Society for Pensioning Penniless Philoso- 
phers,” and Gilbert did not extend the invitation at 
the end of the month, and the expected vacancy 
remained filled. Jack borrowed some money and 
started for Elorida where he heard of a chance to 
get employment. Weeks passed and nothing was 
heard from him ; Constance was surprised, Gilbert 
said it was just like him. In the meantime. Con- 


DIVOECE. 


91 


stance became absorbed in lier baby-boy, and her 
brother-in-law faded from her thoughts. 

Little Gilbert was fat, strong, and good-natured, 
fair and blue-eyed, and a monopolist. For his 
sake, Constance went to a quiet little village on the 
Hudson, and with all her dear ones constantly com- 
ing to see her, she spent the most delightful sum- 
mer of her life. It was like passing from one exist- 
ence to another, but with her return to the city all 
her cares came back with increased strength. 

However willing, it is not always possible to take 
good advice, and although Constance had intended 
to follow her father’s, she could only do it with Gil- 
bert’s approval and assistance. He promised 
everything, and was delighted with some ideas 
that Constance had heard discussed by her aunts, 
and agreed to adopt them, but it was now October, 
and as yet they had not been fully practiced. He ^ 
had agreed to give Constance a regular weekly 
allowance for housekeeping, she was to pay cash 
for everything, and thus keep the giant Debt out yi 
the house. The Morgans had pass-books and un- 
limited credit, and Constance had known no other 
system, but now as a wife, and conscious of the de- 
sire to be honest to her husband’s interests, the 
plan of ')ay^Tig at once, and keeping within a certain 


92 


DIVORCE. 


limit every year, thus allowing Gilbert to manage 
the balance of his salary, appealed to her ideas of 
method and consistency. 

She sat one morning soon after her return from 
the country, reviewing the past sixteen months and 
trying to determine where the mistake really lay. 
Gilbert had gone, the baby was asleep, Constance 
had taken a pile of bills from the drawer of her 
desk, and with a blank-book and a pencil before 
her, was going over each account, adding and calcu- 
lating, and meditating over the whole matter. 
Something was wrong, but who was most to blame ? 
She recalled with unpleasant minuteness all he 
money transactions of her very short married life. 
The facts were distinct, and she could not avoid 
seeing them. During the sixteen months she had 
not bought for herself so much as a pair of gloves, 
her mother had been lavish with her wedding outfit 
and the baby had been given enough for three ordi- 
nary infants. Then where had the money gone ! 
She had kept a strict accourJ: of her housekeeping 
expenses, and she was annoyed with herself for not 
showing Gilbert sooner how much they exceeded 
the sum agreed upon. For the cash system liad 
lasted about three months. There was always some 
good reason why Constance should wait for her 


DIVORCE. 


93 


liouse-^money, and get things on credit for a few 
weeks. Constance dealt where her mother did, and 
conld have credit to any amount. She did not like 
to commence the system — not from any fear of not 
being able to pay when the bills were sent in — but 
simply that having made a mental plan that prom- 
ised comfort, she longed to carry it out. But it 
was impossible. Not only did the bills run until 
Gilbert was ready to pay them, but he entertained 
in an extravagant manner, and Constance could not 
economize in one thing to spend on another, for 
Gilbert demanded a certain consistency in meals, 
and asked for what was not on the table. 

She grew nervous at the total for house expenses, 
and remembered all the costly little things that Gil- 
bert was constantly bringing home. Did he pay for 
them or owe for them ? She ended by putting all 
the papersjn one drawer, she would ask Gilbert to 
look at them and arrange everything for her. She 
was to blame for not doing it sooner ; she could not 
expect him to attend to his business and carry all 
the house affairs in his head. Gilbert came early, 
humming an opera tune and bringing in with him 
an atmosphere of careless gayety and bright antici- 
pation. Was dinner ready ? He had agreed to 
join a theatre party and bring his wife. Constance 


94 


DIVORCE. 


rapidly pictured herself dressed for the occasion, 
and then remembered the baby. She counted the 
hours and shook her head, smiling at her own dis- 
appointment. 

“I can’t leave Bertie for so many hours.” 

‘‘Oh, what nonsense! why he’ll sleep right 
through.” 

Constance hesitated ; the nurse was trustworthy, 
still the baby might waken and fret, and it was too 
young to be fed. Gilbert finally insisted and Con- 
stance '^nt, recovering her spirits before her gloves 
^YM.e buttoned, and determining to be as happy and 
sSi^fi^d as Gilbert could desire. 

The party was large and gay, and if any of its 
members had any responsibilities they managed to 
keep the fact well concealed. After the play they 
had supper and a long discussion. It was two 
o’clock in the morning when Constance ran up- 
stairs, leaned over Bertie’s crib and asked had he 
cried mucli^sj^ 

“ No, very little,” was the answer, but she felt that 
she had neglected him, and for what ? To sit with 
and listen to people for whom she did not care, to 
learn a number of gossipy stories about people 
whom she had never seen, and to see Gilbert spend- 
ing money on strangei's while his honest debts re- 


DIVOllCE. 


95 


mained unpaid and forgotten. It was all false and 
humiliating, but how to help it ? 

The next evening she spoke to Gilbert about the 
bills. He seemed utterly surprised at her for being 
worried about them. He had a cigar and a fresh re- 
view and talked, without putting them aside, in the 
most indifferent tone. 

“ Why, what troubles you, Constance ? These 
fellows know that their money is safe. Let them 
wait ; they charge enormously, anyhow, it’s nearly 
all profit. I wdsh we could get such a per cent on 
our goods !” 

The remark was meant to be final. Constance 
sewed for some minutes and then paused and looked 
at Gilbert, his eyes were fixed on the page before 
him and he seemed much interested in the subject. 
She waited until he put down the book and was get- 
ting ready for a walk. 

“ Gilbert, I suppose we agreed to pay the large 
prices when we bought the goods.” 

“ Well, of course — the prices are put iip because 
the profit covers the delay in collecting the bills. 
These fellows lose nothing.” 

“ That reminds me of Aunt Lizzie’s method, she 
says she makes money in the year by paying cash 
for everything. I wish we could do it, Gilbert. It 


96 


DIVORCE. 


would save me so much uneasiness. I wish you 
would look at these bills, Gilbert. See how much 
w( owe — a great deal more than we set apart for the 
house expenses — ” 

“Why, how is that? I doil’v understand, you 
were to spend just so much and of course if you keep 
within the amount it mil all come out right when I 
settle the bills.” He began reading them over, 
whistling at intervals and gradually becoming an- 
noyed as he mentally calculated the indebtedness. 
He sat down decidedly perplexed. 

“ You see, Gilbert these dinner parties and sup- 
pers cost a great deal, the house money will not pay 
for them.” 

“ These bills are outrageous !” 

“ But we’ve had the things and we knew when w^e 
ordered them what we would have to pay for them.” 

“ Well, they can’t be paid for now — that is cer- 
tain !” 

“ What shall we do!” 

He laughed carelessly, indifferent to or uncon- 
scious of her keen anxiety and mortification. 

“You must not be silly, Constance. They know 
they’ll get their money sometime, they won’t worry, 
so I can’t see why we should. If we couldn’t pay 
them or didn’t intend to do it, there might be some 


DIVORCE. 


97 


excuse for you to look so miserable over the mat- 
ter—” 

“ Oh, but Gilbert, it is so humiliating to be asked 
several times for money and not be able to give it — ” 

“ Why, who has asked several times ?” 

“ Mr. Biliks for one. His bill for confectionery is 
twenty-five dollars.” 

“Well, I’ll attend to that this week; now, look 
bright and promise me not to worry. It is very 
evident, Constance, that you never had much to do 
with money affairs since you can work yourself into 
such a condition over nothing.” 

“ Well, I really do feel wretched about these bills, 
Gilbert. Why, wouldn’t it be better to avoid hav- 
ing them ? You could give me my house-money 
punctually, Gilbert, and pay at once for these extra 
parties and dinners.” 

“ Yes, but you see, when I can do better with the 
money by turning it over several times, why not 
take advantage of the opportunity? You little 
goose, business is all Greek to you.” 

“You mean to say that you are raaking money 
out of what might be paid to them.” 

“Yes — exactly.” 

“ And they’re charging us doubk because they 


98 


DIVORCE. 


have to wait.” He laughed at her way of putting 
it. 

“And I make the most,” he said, looking straight 
in her eyes. She shook her head and put her hands 
on his shoulder : 

“ I would rather pay cash, and make less money 
then.” 

“ Well, we’ll see about it.” She spoke impul- 
sively : 

“ How would it do not to have any more enter- 
tainments until these are paid for ?” 

His face darkened : he put her from him and 
paced back and forth. “ What do you mean ! — to 
insult me by implying that I can’t afford to enter- 
tain our friends ! that I am dishonorable — dishon- 
est — that I don’t know what I’m doing i Good God ! 
and you’re my wife !” 

Constance stood mute before his fury, white and 
trembling from head to foot. She caught his hands, 
they felt like iron in her feeble grasp, and he let her 
kiss them and try to draw them about her, without 
a sign of softening or relenting in his face or man- 
ner. His great, blue eyes looked twice their size 
and flashed angry reproach on hers. 

“ Oh, you don’t understand me,” she said, gasp- 
ingly. “ I only meant, that — if we were living be- 


DIVOECE. 


99 


yond our means, I would willingly economize — I 
want to do right, Gilbert, for your sake, and baby’s 
— You know more than 1 do about money — if I 
make mistakes, you might explain and not get angry 
with me. You know that I would not offend nor 
insult you — ” 

She turned away, chilled by his unsympathetic 
manner, and took up her work, but it shook in her 
hands. He opened the door, shut it, and at last 
stood by her, speaking carelessly : 

“ I wish I wasn’t so quick tempered, for you have 
the faculty of saying the very things to excite me. 
Suppose we drop this subject ; you may be very 
sure that I will pay the debts I contract, and you 
need not worry about them, but try and have some 
confidence in me — ” 

“ Oh, Gilbert — I have — ” 

“ There, now, don’t cry, it annoys me. One would 
think I was a perfect brute to see your face. I 
swear, I do like bright, smiling women about me. 
The emotional is all very well on the stage, but in 
private life it is infernally tiresome ! You might 
try and control yourself and not take everything I 
say so literally. You break your heart over expres- 
sions that I forget the minute they’re said. You 
must learn to make allowance for an angry man.” 


100 


DIVORCE. 


She clung to him speaking very quietly. 

“But what is to become of me, Gilbert, if you 
will not be kind to me, and take my words for what 
they mean? I have no one to go to but you for 
sympathy, and I cannot alter my disposition now, 
— the debts did trouble me — ” 

“ I know you are a loyal little creature ; if I half- 
killed you, no one would be any the wiser. Why. 
Dot, my darling, we’ve had a quarrel, or something 
very like it, over these confounded bills ! ” He swept 
them all into the drawer, and shut it with a bang, 
“Come, get on your things and let us go out. 
We’ll recover our spirits in the open air.” 

They had a long stroll, and they discussed every- 
thing, but the money question — music, theatres, 
real-estate and family affairs, and Constance tried 
to forget the conversation and not to review it with 
the reasoning powers, cool and active, and her emo- 
tions at rest. But she did it, in spite of herself, 
and she sighed at the result. Time went on and 
Mr. Biliks’ case was not an exception to the rule. 


VII. 

When Constance had been married three years 
she lost her mother. Mrs. Morgan fell a victim, on 
the altar of her idol. Having assumed the duties 
of a manageress at a grand charity fair ; she became 
completely exhausted by the efforts involved, but 
refused to withdraw from the work. She had a 
table and she would sell the things contributed by 
her friends, for there is a certain rivalry, even 
among the organizers of charity fairs, and Mrs. 
Morgan hoped to take in the largest amount of 
money at her stall. In this she succeeded, her arti- 
cles were beautiful, and she sold and raffled ener- 
getically, but the room was large and full of 
draughts, and when the last evening came, she was 
hoarse and feverish. Mr. Morgan, in vain, urged 
her to go home, Constance who w^as then enjoying 
the scene left early, she had a little daughter two 
101 


102 


DIVORCE. 


months old to think of, and Gilbert had an engage- 
ment to keep later. 

The next morning they were surprised at break- 
fast by the arrival of a carriage containing Mr. 
Lacy. Constance was not to feel alarmed, but her 
mother was quite ill and wanted her, and the doctor 
thought it best for Constance to bring her little 
ones so that she could remain at home until her 
mother was better. Constance helped the nurse to 
dress the children, and got herself ready without 
questioning the exact truth of the message. She 
had only parted with her mother a few hours before, 
and while she moved about the rooms she could see 
her mother as she had left her, — her eyes brilliant, 
her cheeks flushed, her voice forced but audible , 
diamonds sparkling in her ears, at her throat and 
on her pretty, busy fingers ; and her tall figure drag- 
ging after her a mass of puffed and befringed dra- 
pery. Mr. Lacy was gone when she came down 
with Bertie. Gilbert put them in the carriage, and 
during the short drive he talked to the baby who 
was called J essie ; making it smile and look at him. 
Even this did not excite Constance, Gilbert did not 
as a general thing take much notice of his children, 
but, of course, in time he would do so. 

It was only when they reached the house and the 


DIVORCE. 


103 


hall door was opened, and Constance saw her 
lather’s white sunken features, that she realized 
what might happen. No one spoke ; Mr. Morgan 
went back into the great empty parlors, and firmly ' 
clasping his hands behind him, began pacing up and 
down their length. This, then, was the end of his 
hopes, he would never have his wife to himself again 
— never. She was the mother of his children, she 
had been his chosen companion, he had worshipped 
her, lavished everything upon her, and yet for years 
they had been as strangers to each other, their lives 
had been lived apart, and now — regrets and good res- 
olutions were alike useless. Constance felt that she 
knew his thoughts ; the nurse took the children into 
the back room, perhaps he would look at them after 
a little while, and she and Gilbert went up stairs. 
There were several doctors in consultation in the 
sitting-room, her brothers and sisters were some- 
where in the house, there were servants everywhere, 
and over all the hush and stillness of awaited death. 

Did her mother know her ? Constance could not 
tell. The poor lady had not spoken for hours, and 
her children kissed her and called to her, and 
thought they saw recognition in her dim eyes, but 
that was all. The physicians’ explanation was so 
very, very simple. It was pneumonia, and the pa- 


104 


DIVOECE. 


tient was beyond help when they were called in. 
So what could science do ? it could only alleviate 
suffering and love was powerless. 

It seemed so strange to the husband and children 
that with everything at their command nothing 
could be done to save her. Wealth was a mockery, 
the utter dependence of humanity came home to 
them. At the end of the second day, Mrs, Morgan 
closed her eyes on the world that had proved so 
satisfactory to her, and left no perceptible void in 
it. CThe saddest thing about her death was that no 
one really missed her. ) Curiously enough, the years 
in which love and duty had done their part, were 
forgotten or overlooked, and she was criticised and 
judged by the motives that had actuated her later 
years. Several fulsome obituaries appeared in print, 
and excited derisive smiles and sneering remarks. 

“Poor John, he looks completely crushed,” re- 
marked old Mrs. Morgan, on a return from a visit 
to her son’s home. “I’m glad Mdj’y and her fam- 
ily are going to keep house for 1:^^. The children 
wdll interest him, and her husband is very sensible 
and companionable.” 

“He can’t be much lonelier than he has been for 
years,” said Mrs. Lacy. “He was saying last night, 
tb»t he offered to give Jessie a check for the hospi- 


DIVORCE. 


105 


tal fund if she would give up the idea of keeping a 
stall, but she wouldn’t agree to it. She craved the 
excitement and amusement of the affair. Well, it 
was a terrible price to pay for that amount of plea- 
sure! Poor Constance is just broken hearted; of 
course she has been more with her mother than the 
others, and I think had more sympathy with Jes- 
sie’s follies.” 

“And they’ve taught her a lesson,” said Alice Mor- 
gan. “Constance is devoted to her home duties, and 
then she is so thoroughly generous and thoughtful ; 
all this Tvdnter she has stayed home, time and again, 
when she didn’t feel like going out, and Gilbert has 
gone and had a good time. She understands so 
thoroughly that he requires pleasant society, and 
likes to use his social talents. She says he de- 
scribes an evening so graphically that she never 
feels that she has missed anything. She has such a 
lovely disposition. I don’t wonder Gilbert is so 
fond and proud of her.” 

“She spoils him,’ said Mrs. Parker, abruptly. 
“ There isn’t one man in a million who could ap- 
preciate her unselfishness and sympathy with others. 
It’s Gilbert this, and Bertie that, and Jessie the 
other! Even a baby of two months needs her 
most intense devotion and comprehension.” 


106 


DIVOECE. 


“Well, slie conquers happiness, at least, by her 
efforts, and that is about as much as we poor mor- 
tals can do,” said Mrs. Gus. Morgan. 

Constance, in fact, found very little leisure to in- 
dulge in grief. Her father soon became a daily vis- 
itor, dropping in, for a short time, to see the little 
ones and read his paper. He seemed happier, and 
more at home with her, than in his own house, and 
soon began talking over his business matters with 
her, and giving her deeds and other papers to keep 
for him. It often seemed to Constance, that in thus 
winning his confidence, she was in a measure taking 
her mother’s place with him. She never repeated 
or alluded to anything that he told her, and soon 
felt that he took this silence, on her part, for 
granted. Gradually and without an effort on her 
side, for she sewed, and nursed her baby while he 
talked, she became familiar with all his affairs, and 
their exact condition, and relations to each other, 
spread out before her like a map. She knew why 
certain mortgages existed, and where the money to 
take them up was invested, why some stocks were 
depreciating, and others advancing in value, and 
with this knowledge, she learned the secret of her 
father’s success in life. She realized his honest mo- 
tives, his self-denial, his industry, his methodical 


DIVORCE. 


107 


habits, his innate sense of looking for right results 
only from right causes. It was a revelation to her 
although her own ideas were but echoes of his. 

He had left her one morning, and she was think- 
ing over this very subject, that good motives alone 
could excuse actions, when Cora Leavitt came 
to see her. It was an unusual hour for Miss Lea- 
vitt to call. She generally came with her sister in 
Mrs. Whiting’s carriage, in carriage dress, all smiles 
and gayety, as if afternoon calling was the very 
charm of life. This morning she was neither gay 
nor smiling, but very much in earnest, and a little 
flushed, although her eyes met Constance’s with a 
hard, steady stare. 

“ I wanted to find you alone, Constance, I want 
to know your real opinion of what is going on in 
my sister’s house.” 

Constance looked thoroughly surprised at this 
speech. 

“You don’t mean to say that you don’t know 
what I mean ! Why, you must ; your husband must 
have told you — ” 

“He told me, the other day, that Guy was quite 
ill—” 

“ Oh, pshaw ! Why, where do you keep yourself ? 


lOS 


DIVORCE. 


Every one is aware of it! Do you mean to say 
that no gossip reaches yon? ” 

“Yery little, I think, I seldom go anywhere on 
account of my mourning, and then, I am so busy 
with the children — ” 

“ Oh, Constance, you always did live in a world of 
your own — always 1 You find happiness, and cling 
to it 1 I wish Maude had some of your common 
sense. She has made up her mind to separate from 
her husband.” 

“You must be dreaming!” 

“Oh, no, you dream — others act; God knows 
from what motives, but they never seem to think of 
the consequences of what they do, of the pain and 
disgrace that they bring to their families, of the 
downright dishonour of the thing ! But I don’t 
want to get excited. I want to talk this over very 
quietly and sensibly with you. Maude may come 
to you for sympathy, perhaps for advice, and you 
ought to know how to talk to her, how to reason 
with her. You are good, you believe in doing right, 
for right’s sake. Of course, you are happy, and she 
is miserable, but still one wrong will not cure 
another.” 

“ Come and sit down, Cora. What can I do for 
you ? ” 


DIVORCE. 


109 


“You say you have heard nothing, not even from 
Florence Almann ? ” 

“Wliy, Cora, Florence never mentions the fami- 
lies she teaches in. She is too honorable. We 
never speak of your sister’s affairs.” 

“Do you think your husband would advise her to 
this step?” Cora was sitting facing Constance, 
their eyes met. Constance bore the searching 
glance with unconscious ease and responsive sym- 
pathy. 

“ Oh, no, Gilbert does not approve of separation, 
and besides, your sister would never thin^of asking 
his opinion, in such a case. He will b6 as much 
surprised as I am.” 

“No, he wont. He has seen more of them, this 
winter, and he must be aware of their unsuitability 
to each other. You know that Maude is unhappy ; 
you saw it the first summer you met her at the 
Branch.” 

Constance flushed. “ Yes, I remember thinking 
that she had some trouble. I didn’t suppose then, 
that it was beyond cure. She has children — I don’t 
understand the matter — ” 

“No, I presume not, for you married from right ^ 
motives ; you love your husband. Maude never did 
care for her’s. I’m shocking you ; well, I trust you. 


110 


DIVOECE. 


SO does she, this will go no farther, and you may be 
able to influence her. You see, she is thirty years 
of age, she has those three children ; now, for their 
sake alone, she should stay with Tom. It all 
comes of having too much money, and nothing to 
do, but to brood over herself and her own needs and 
desires. She has refined tastes, and Tom. is essen- 
tially coarse-minded. But that difference always 
existed between them, and she has put up with it 
for so long, that I think she ought to try and bear it 
to the end. She thinks me very unfeeling and self- 
ish to want to condemn her to a life-time of such 
companionship, but I cannot see where she is going 
to help herself by leaving him. She will still be his 
i wife, she cannot marry another, and she will deprive 
■ herself of the pleasure she has now. People wont 
I come to see her as they do now, she couldn’t receive 
gentlemen without compromising herself, and then, 
^^e world always has a private sneer for a woman who 
cannot succed in charming her own husband into 
being what he should be to he^ It is an admission of 
utter weakuess; besides, Tom. is fond of her. To-day 
if she would set about it, she could wind him around 
her finger. And he loves his children. Oh, it is so 
wrong, so short-sighted in Maude! If she does 
this, it will be the beginning of endless misery.” 


DIVORCE. 


Ill 


'‘But, Cora, I cannot see how she can dare do 
it. It will be breaking sacred vows — I know so 
little about Mr. Whiting. Is he unkind?” 

“He is rough, at times, and lately, Constance, 
very lately, he has grown very jealous. But she ex- 
cites him by trying to attract men of a different 
order from his. She likes him to see how she can 
fascinate intellectual men. She has really, by culti- 
vating tastes entirely opposed to his, and keeping 
away from him, increased her dislike for him.” 

“But, Cora, her responsibilities are not done 
away with. Her duties to him and her children 
remain the same, as long as she voluntarily assumed, 
them.” 

“ Oh, it’s all shirk, nowadays ! He lives at clubs, 
the nurse and Florence are responsible for the chil- 
dren, and she is busy with ideas of affinities and 
congenial tastes and all that rubbish. As ma says, 
it’s all very well for an unmarried woman to go wild 
on the theories of such subjects, but a married one 
had better make the best of what she finds in her 
husband.” 

“ Can’t your mother influence her?” 

“ Oh, she and ma are at dagger’s points. She 
blames ma for letting her marry Tom., and ma says 
that her moral perceptions are not clear. And I 


112 


DIVORCE. 


:Suppose ma is right ! If Maude’s principles were 
sound slie would accept tlie misery that she brought 
•on herself, hide her own disappointments, and for 
her children’s sake, try to make a better man of 
Tom. 'We’ve talked this subject out, at home. 
.You see, Maude is rich in her own right. Undo 
.Jame^elt her aTortu^eTtiut noFin her own contro l, 
:and then she has an Thcbme from pa’s proper ty. 
;She is independent and that makes her more head- 
strong. I often thought that if Maude had to de- 
pend upon Tom’s business income she would be a 
much liner woman, because she is clever and ener- 
getic, and her talents would have proper vents. 
Now, she can just feed her fancies and brood over 
her mistakes.” 


“ But you say that Mr. Whiting does not give her 
any cause for leaving him !” 

“ No more than he ever did. He always eat and 
drank too much inelegantly, and lost his temper 
•quickly and made things generally unpleasant. But 
dear me! where do you find. perfect men ! /They’re 
all s^sh, if not in one way, in another, ^ey all 
think themselves right and want their own way, 
and if a woman must marry, it is a mere choice of 
tyrants. W^hen she finds the one that she feels she 
:can get along best with, she ought to bow down to 


s 


\ 


, - . -^^DIYORCE. 113 

' ^ C • - . . -' V./ :. ' 

liini and make the most him. Maude says that I 
am conservative, ma is an old fogy, and she is the 
' coming woman.’ Ma may be an old fogy, but I 
agree with her in this, that if an action is going to 
cause more harm than good it should not be done 
Upon my word, Constance, I really believe that I 
have opened a new world to you. A world of rest- 
less, idle people, with nothing to do but make 
misery for themselves and others.” 

Constance was silent for some minutes, the whole 
subject was too novel a one to be easily grasped, it 
was to her a bewildering problem quite beyond her 
comprehension. 

“ I’m glad I never married !” went on Cora. 
“ Fortunately^ am not o bUgedJb o marry to be sup- 
ported.^ I mentally thank my father every day for 
leaving me a nice income. No doubt, if I had mar- 
ried carelessly a few years ago, I would be as 
wretched to-day as Maude is. Do you know that 
until this trouble came up I had a faint idea of ac- 
cepting Charley Marshall ? He has wanted me for 
years and I rather like him ; we don’t jar upon each 
other’s nerves. But this convinces me that it re- 
quires an i mmen se capacity for self-sacrifice on the 
woman’s side to get any^omfort out of marriag^ 
and I don’t care enough for Charley to undertake 


114 


DIVORCE. 


the situation. I think you are the happiest married 
woman I know, but dear me, Constance, you are a 
wonder and an example to us all, and I often ques- 
tion whether it really pays for a woman to be so 
thoroughly unselfish and lovely as you are. If Mr. 
Travers appreciates you, then he is one man in a 
million. In fact, Constance, I think God made 
some women too fine for this world’s valuation of 
them. Maude fancies that she is one of the few I 
classify in that way, but she isn’t. She is of much 
coarser clay. Well, I feel better now that I have 
ventilated some of my opinions. I think I’ll go 
home and try to cheer up ma. She is worried to 
death over this matter. I’ll tell her that you will 
reason with Maude and advise her to do right, you 
will, won’t you, Constance dear ?” 

“ If she asks me I’ll certainly say what I think 
and believe to be right. But Cora, I am younger 
than she is, and I never yet sat down to consider 
the subject, I always thought — ” She flushed pain- 
fully. 

“Well, what did you always think ?” 

“ Why, I had an idea that people like us, people 
^ who go to church and call themselves Christians, are 
Inbound to live up to their profession, and if their 


DIVORCE. 


115 


relatives do wrong try to win them back by gentle 
means and love — ” 

Cora put her hands on her friend’s shoulders and 
looked steadily in her sweet, trusting face. 

“ That is what you would do, Constance ?” 

“Well, I hope I would — ” 

“ I know you would — I hope you will never have 
occasion to practice your religion in that way ; it 
would be too cruel — too unjust I but we don’t all 
practice what we profess — the ^orld would soon end 
if we did. To-day for instance, Maude’s first duty 
is to try and reclaim Tom. Whiting and make some- 
thing out of him ; not only for his sake but for her 
own, and the childrens’. She can do it, too, if she 
likes. She can go to Europe and take him away 
from his fast associates here. They could live in 
one of those interesting European cities, and he 
could spend his time sight-seeing and taking thef 
children about, for he is always happy w’hen his 
perceptive faculties are entertained, and he makes 
companions of his boys and never tires of showing 
them things. But she is fearfully inclined to shirk 
her duty.” 

Cora went away and Constance with her shght 
insight into human nature, found herself reviewing 
her intimacy with the Whitings, recalling them as 


IIG 


DIVORCE. 


she had seen them together, and with their children, 
their looks, actions and words. The more she 
thought over them the stranger and more unac- 
countable the whole matter seemed. 


YIII. 


Cora had scarcely got out of sight when Mrs. 
Whiting’s carriage stopped at a neighbor’s house, 
and Constance saw Mrs. Whiting go in, no doubt to 
confide in this lady, who was older than herself and 
very intimate with her. It was evident that the - 
trouble had reached a climax. Could Cora also 
have been at this neighbor’s to win her over to the 
conservative side of the question? Constance 
judged so, when an hour afterward, Mrs. Whiting 
was shown up to her sitting-room, for they had 
ceased to be formal acquaintances, .and since the 
baby’s birth they had been very warm and confiden- 
tial over matters concerning children. Mrs. Whit- 
ing was flushed and nervous, she kissed Constance 
several times and then sat down and began to cry. 

‘‘ This is a wretched world, Constance, for ^ 
women !” she said, indignantly. “ You’re all right 
so long as you keep within prescribed limits and 


117 


118 


DIVORCE. 


only talk of progress, but tlie moment you mention 
action beyond a certain point, tlien your dear 
friends draw themselves up, shake their heads and 
tell you that it would never — never do to act !” 

“ Well, if the action is an important one, involv- 
ing serious consequences, no doubt they hesitate to 
assume the responsibility of giving decided advice,” 
was the slow, earnest reply. 

“ Has Cora been here ?” 

“Yes, a little while ago.” 

“ I thought so. She was at Mrs. Houghton’s too. 
She goes about repeating ma’s arguments against 
what I am going to do, and begging people to use 
their influence to prevent me from taking this step j 
and yet, if Cora had been Tom. Whiting’s wife, she 
would have left lum-lang ago. People are so un- 
reasonable, tfi^ never will see a grievance from the 
sufferer’s point of view. Of course, you think me 
in the wTong.” 

“ I think the principle is wrong.” 

“ More theory ! Oh, how I hate the theorizing 
of happy people ! You sit here in your pretty room, 
with your children by you, you have a husband 
whom you love, to come in and worship you, to un- 
derstand you, to sympathize with you. You can 
not expand or aspire beyond his comprehension. 


DIVORCE. 


119 


you two progress and develop together, you need 
not go out of your home for mental companionship, 
for thorough appreciation. How can you advise 
me ? How could you dare to judge me ?” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Whiting, I don’t judge you, I don’t 
know enough to attempt to advise you ! But, see, 
will you not try and he guided by your duty ? we 
all can ki;iow what our duty is in a diiSficult situa- 
tion — Oh, I feel so sorry for you ! I wish I knew 
the right thing to say to you, to do for you !” 

Mrs. Whiting sobbed and shivered as Constance 
threw her arms around her and kissed Her, and 
spoke more gently, resting her head against the 
younger woman’s breast, and clinging to the firm 
little hands that were so sympathetic in their touch. 

“ I thought you would feel for me, Constance. 
But, do not speak of duty ! I have tried it for 
years — Oh, I can’t live by duty any longer ! I can’t 
bear this life ! I’ll die or go mad ! Oh, you don’t 
know, you cannot imagine what it is to live in the 
house wdth a man who is repulsive to you ! A 
coarse, sensual creature who only lives to gratify 
his animal propensities ! Oh, Constance, what is a 
woman to do ? I can not avoid him, he has the 
right to come into every room in the house, to 
monopolize my time, to demand and exact attention 


120 


DIVORCE. 


to Ills low tastes and interests. And then, I am 
told that for my children’s sake I should put up 
v/ith everything that sickens and disgusts me. The 
children ! Why, he is no good example for them to 
have before their eyes! They will grow up better 
if they are removed from his influence. He has no 
qualities worth imitating, on the contrary, his com- 
panionship is lowering. I want to keep my little 
ones from him ! I want to get rid of the sight of 
him, and there is only the one way — to separate 
from him 1” 

Constance sighed deeply : “ But the end, Mrs. 
Whiting ?” 

“The end 1 What ends until Death ends every- 
thing for us ! What does the world care for my 
misery 1 Nothing, I can go on this way forever ! I 
tell you, my life to-day is not worth living 1 I am 
supposed to be an enviable woman, and a more 
wretched one doesn’t exist on the face of the earth. 
Now, its all very well to talk of marriage vows, and 
duty, but when the result is misery there should be 
a change in some of our surroundings. You and 
others have an idea that by bearing troubles 
patiently in this world you insure your happiness 
in the next. Well, I’ll tell you my idea on the sub- 
ject. We know nothing whatever about the next 


DIVORCE. 


121 


world ; and if we can see the way to find happiness 
in this, we onght to seize upon it. Everyday I 
realize this fact more and more. A mistake should 
not ruin a whole life ! Why, when I sit down and 
coolly reason out the subject, I feel the utter injus- 
tice of the social usages that condemn me to per- 
petual isolation and pain. It is lawful to remedy 
slight mistakes.” 

“ But Mr. Whiting — he has a side in the ques- 
tion.” 

“ Oh, he is perfectly happy, but his causes of 
happiness do not depend upon me. He will enjoy ^ 
his tastes no matter what becomes of me. There is* 
another proof of the huge wrong involved in our 
marriage, he enjoys life, I loathe it ! Just look at 
me as I am forced to look at myself. I am well, 
much stronger physically than I used to be.” 

Constance had noticed the alteration in Mrs. 
Whiting’s appearance while she was talking, and it 
did seem strange that misery should act as a beau- 
tifier, for her figure was exquisitely rounded, her 
eyes were clearer and brighter than usual, she wore 
her own hair becomingly arranged, and she had 
given up the use of powder and rouge, and looked 
delicately fair and modest. 


122 


DIVORCE. 


“ You do look very mucli stronger, I think,” said 
Constance. 

‘‘ Yes, I am trying to develoji myself in every way, 
to be all that I should be with my natural gifts and 
advantages, and it maddens me when I think of 
what might have been, what my womanhood might 
have been to myself and others, of my capabilities, 
my aspirations, my possibilities, and then contem- 
plate the folly of which I have been the victim! 
Thirty years of age, with a grand life before me if I 
choose to accept it, and tied hand and foot by a 
false, cursed marriage 1 I tell you I never saw until 
now how much there is in life, and yet, mentally 
and spiritually, I shall starve unless I can break this 
bond. And I will ! I will not sacrifice another day 
more than I can help of my life to this wicked, 
cursed bond. It is not marriage 1 It is an outrage 
on the word to apply it to a union like mine ! I can 
do something better with my life than sacrifice it in 
a vain struggle to combat my husband’s vices, and 
counteract their influences on his children.” She 
laughed bitterly, as she saw Constance flush and 
turn away her face. “ Of course, you think that if 
you were in my place you would try the effect of 
the sacrifice. I’ve tried it long enough ; it might 
be effective with some men, it is wasted on him, ut- 


DIVORCE. 


123 


teiiy wasted ! This very minute, he cannot be made 
to understand what I have to complain oh To his 
mind we have everything necessary to happiness. 
My discontent is imaginary, the result of headache 
or dyspepsia, he says I like to grumble and make 
trouble for myself because I have no real grief. 
How can I reason with or appeal to such an under- 
standing as his is ! Oh, no, I may find peace and 
rest once I am rid of his constant presence, and I 
will have time to cultivate my talents and indulge 
in intellectual pleasures. Will you come and see 
me, or will you be too virtuous to visit a woman 
who voluntarily separates from her husband ?” 

“ I’ll come and visit you,” said Constance, gently, 
“ if it will give you pleasure to see me. Perhaps, in 
time — ” 

“ No, don’t do it witb the idea that in time I shall 
bow down to appearances and go back to the life I 
escaped from, because I have no intention of mak- 
ing such a retrograde movement. I shall progress, 
I hope, and show others that woman can be indi- 
vidual and independent, and yet retain their self- 
respect, and exact respect from others. The life I 
live now is a sham ! I’m tired of playing a part 
Hke mine. It is a difficult one, you cannot realize 
it. What you do voluntariiy, I force myself to imi- 


124 


DIVOECE. 


tate. It is one never-ceasing strain on the nerves, 
on the mental faculties, on the impulses and emo- 
tions. I am, God help me ! a successful actress in 
private life. But it is torture ! It is dishonest in 
the sight of God, and surelj we have the right, as 
his creatures, at least to live open, honest lives, to 
bo what we seem instead of being mere frauds, 
afraid to look a sincere glance or express a true 
opinion. I tell you, Constance, society is crowded 
mth just such humbugs as I am, and the sooner we 
cease to deceive the public and degrade ourselves 
the better for us and the community.” 

Constance was silent ; sympathetic and happy, 
she could feel intensely for Mrs. -Whiting in her ex- 
citement and declared misery, but she was not im- 
pressed with the sincerity of her friend’s suffering. 
There was no trace of mental or heart trouble in 
Mrs. Whiting’s features, and her attitudes and ges- 
tures were full of dignity and self -appreciation. If 
humiliated by it she was still mistress of the situa- 
/ tion. Self was the prominent figure in her graphic 
picture, and it was this fact that was affecting Con- 
stance without her being aware of it. Gilbert list- 
ened attentively to her account of the two interviews. 

“What do you think, Gilbert ?” she asked 
©stly. 


earn- 


DIVORCE. 


125 


He looked at lier for some seconds, then ho 
shrugged his shoulders and spoke carelessly : 

“ I don’t think it will amount to anything, par- 
ticularly if her family oppose her in it. Tom. 
Whiting is no worse than the majority. He doesn’t 
read Emerson, and I don’t think he troubles him- 
self much about the state of his wife’s soul ; but he 
is a good fellow in his way, and it isn’t his fault if 
his mental powers are dull and his sensibilities un- 
developed. He has lots of friends, if he does lack 
brains, and she wouldn’t gain in any way by leaving 
him. What did you say ?” 

“ Yery little, and nothing to ^rucourage her to do 
what I hope I would not do myself — ” 

“ You mean in her position ?” 

“Why certainly, I tried hard to put myself in it.” 

He laughed at her serious face, and then spoke 
decidedly : 

“You don’t know what you would do in her cir- 
cumstances. You have no idea how she is morti- 
fied at times. She does exert wonderful self-con- 
trol and forbearance. Of course, there is a popular 
impression that everyone has a skeleton to conceal 
and that it is everyone’s duty to do it gracefully.” 

“ But it isn’t so !” said Constance finally. “ You 
eouldn’t make me believe that !” 


126 


DIYOEC’E. 


“Well, keep to your creed. We all argue from j 
experience. However, Dot, if this thing happens 
you must uphold Mrs. Whiting. Don’t look fright- 
ened. You needn’t take to lecturing in her behalf, 
that would do her more harm than good. ‘ Qui 
is excuse, s' accuse.' But, you must visit her just the 
same, and have her here as usual. And don’t men- 
tion this affair to others, but I needn’t tell you not 
to spread gossip.” 

Several weeks passed, Constance heard no more 
from Cora or Mrs. Whiting about the separation, 
and was inclined to think that the idea had been 
given up, when one day at her grandmother’s, she 
found the matter a topic for discussion. It Avas 
Mrs. Morgan’s birthday, and thei^e Avas a family 
dinner-party to occupy the evening. The ladies ar- 
rived early, produced fancy-work and reminded 
Constance of a chorus in an old play. 

“ Of course. Con., you and Gilbert will drop her 
acquaintance,” said Mrs. Gus. Morgan, as she bent 
over her crochet, patted it out flat and went on 
again. “ They never were enviable friends, I 
think.” 

“Why they are too old for Con.,” said Mrs. Par- 
ker. “Too old altogether; not only in years, but 
in knowledge of the world.” 


DIVOr.CE. 


127 


“And tliey belong to a ratber fast set;” said 
Alice Morgan, wbo bad always regarded tliis inti- 
macy with tbe Mlii tings ydtb somewhat jealous 
feelings, it having been limited to tbe Travers. “ I 
wouldn’t be seen in Mrs. Whiting’s bouse now !” 

Constance was sitting near her grandmother, 
bolding Jessie in her lap for tbe old lady’s inspec- 
tion. She glanced at her aunts and felt their search- 
ing eyes as she spoke, “ Why, Aunt Alice ?” 

“Well, she is causing talk. She has nev/ servants 
and she receives on certain evenings ; altogether, 
she has a gay time. The Holcombs were telling me 
about her. You know they live right opposite.” 

“ Yes, but she alvfays received on stated evenings, 
and had a gay time,” said Constance^ quietly. 

“ Well, as long as her husband has left the house, 
she ought to be more particular, and not attract at- 
tention to herself,” said Mrs. Parker. Mrs. Lacy 
laughed. 

“Why Lizzie, she didn’t leave her husband with 
the intention of turning nun, on the contrary, she 
wanted more scope for pleasure. He was a bore 
and a nuisance about the house. Frank says he 
will go to the bad now like the wind.” 

“ Oh, Aunt Hetty !” it was Constance who was 
surprised and shocked. 


128 


DIVORCE. 


“ Why what is to become of a man with no home 
.and no checks on him, and his pockets full of 
money ? Of course, he’ll go down hill,” said Mrs. 
Lacy. 

“Yes, and ‘find things greased for him,’ as Josh 
Billings says,” said Alice Morgan. “ She’s an un- 
principled woman if she does possess extraordinary 
talents ! She isn’t using them for any good end.” 

“ I always had a horror of these society belles,” 
;said Mrs. Gus. Morgan. “ They live on flattery 
and attention. And she has no beauty, but she has 
money.” 

“And she knows how to please men said Mrs. 
Parker. 

“ Take our advice and keep away from her, Con- 
stance,” said Mrs. Lacy. “ You don’t need her, and 
she can enjoy herself without your assistance.” 

“ She spent yesterday afternoon with me,” said 
Constance. 

“She did!” from several voices. “And you 
' didn’t know that she had separated from her hus- 
band ?” 

“No.” 

“ She hadn’t the courage to admit it to you,” said 
Mrs. Lacy. “ Well, the woman has some sense of 
shame left.” 


BIVOKCE. 


129 


“ Then don’t interfere with her visits to Con- 
stance,” said Mrs. Morgan, gently. “ Constance 
may do her good. She has no right to judge Mrs. 
Whiting. Did I ever see her ?” 

‘‘ Only at Jessie’s funeral, Mother.” 

“ She came up stairs, Grandma, and sat with me 
for some time, she took J essie from the nurse and 
put her in my arms, and then I cried, before that I 
couldn’t cry. It did me good ; it was very thought- 
ful in her, I think, very kind.” 

“ She is a nice looking woman, npt very large, 
was she dreSsed in black velvet ?” 

‘‘ Yes, that was Mrs. Whiting.” 

“ I remember her ; her voice is very sweet and 
clear.” 

“ It seems she has commenced taking singing les- 
sons again. The Holcombs see Signor Ferrani 
going in there several times a week, and they can 
hear her practicing in the mornings before they are 
up,” said Alice. 

Well, there is no harm in that,” said Mrs. Mor- 
gan. 

“It may be Cora who takes lessons,” said Con- 
stance, smiling in spite of herself. “ She is stop- 
ping with her sister now.” 

“ Why report had it that Mrs. Whiting’s family 


130 


DIVORCE. 


had ceased to visit her, and openly sided with her 
husband.” 

“ They would not do her any good by acting in 
that way,” said Mrs. Morgan. “ Besides, they 
would be really injuring her. I think that must be 
a mistake.” 

“I know it is,” said Constance. 

“Well, of course, you and Gilbert know most 
about the Whitings,” said Mrs. Parker, solemnly. 
“ I consider her a very dangerous acquaintance for 
you both. You must be far more intimate with her 
than we supposed.” 

“ I think you would all like her if you knew her!” 
said Constance, impulsively, her eyes flashing and 
the color deepening in her cheeks. “ She came 
every day after Jessie was born, she was as kind 
and thoughtful as she could be, she has told me so 
many useful things about children, you know her 
own are so healthy and strong that I was sure she 
understood how to take care of them. And al- 
though she is so highly accomplished and so clever, 
she is perfectly unaffected in her manners and lan- 
guage. You never feel embarrassed with her ; but on 
the contrary, she draws out people’s best qualities.” 

“Well, done!” said Mrs. Morgan, putting her 
hand on her grandchild’s arm and smiling at her 


DIVORCE. 


131 


earnestness, “ Mrs. Whiting has one friend anyhow 
in the world.” 

“ She might be all that Constance claims and yet 
be a very unsafe companion,” said Mrs. Gus. Mor- 
gan. 

“ When Gilbert comes well find out his opinion 
on the subject,” said Mrs. Lacy. But Gilbert stood 
the fire of hints, insinuations, denunciations and 
leading questions, with perfect equanimity and in- 
difference. He had no opinions and no curiosity in 
regard to Mrs. Whiting’s domestic affairs. He con- 
sidered the separation a fact that only concerned 
the husband and wife, said he had lunched with 
Whiting that noon, and as a friend of both had 
nothing to say about either. Mr. Morgan was/| 
equally reserved, so the other gentlemen gave their \ 
ideas and speculations on the question, showing J 
much knowledge of its general principles and none 
whatever of the case in point, and everyone was^ 
happy and satisfied. 

“ Constance, where do your people get their in- 
formation about the Whitings?” Gilbert asked on 
the way home. 

‘‘ Why they know several families that visit Mrs. 
Whiting.” 

‘‘I never could understand the interest that 


132 


DIVORCE. 


women take in persons that they have nothing what- 
ever to do with. I suppose if Mrs. Whiting had 
gone out of her way to be polite to your aunts, she 
would have disarmed all this unkind feeling and 
made strong friends of them.” 

“ I never thought of that. I suppose they were 
theorizing, as Mrs. Whiting told me I was doing.” 

“No, they were showing a great deal of strong 
prejudice against her. You must be very careful of 
what you say before them. Mrs. Whiting counts 
us among her best friend she would be very much 
hurt if anything against her should be repeated as 
coming from us. You understand me, Constance.’^ 
“Oh, yes, indeed. I am very careful, Gilbert, 
and intend to be so.” 


IX. 


Gilbert baving demonstrated clearly to Constance 
that this , reparation between Mr. and Mrs. Whiting 
could in no way affect them, she made up her mind 
to ignore the fact and refuse to discuss it with 
others, or think about it even when alone. Her own 
life was full of happiness, its sweet cares and duties. 
She would act toward Mrs. Whiting, when with her, 
precisely as she had been doing. She could not 
make herself believe that Mr. Whiting’s absence 
would be any drawback to the pleasure of visiting 
his wife. It was a simple thing to assume that he 
was out, and thus forget him. 

But this determination was easier to make than 
to put in practice. The ghost would be laid one 
place only to rise in another, and Constance often 
recalled the story of a pebble thrown into water 
and the ever increasing circles. One afternoon, 
Florence Allman rang the bell, and knowing her 
133 


134 


DIVORCE. 


voice Constance called to her from the sitting-room, 
Avhere she was busy over summer dresses. 

Florence and Constance still understood and 
sympathized with each other, often in looks, occa- 
sionally in Y>^ords, a curious interchange of affection, 
for Florence sympathized v>^ith Constance in her 
happiness, and Constance felt for Florence’s cares 
and efforts to earn a living for herself and help 
others. 

■ Florence came into the room, and having put 
down her sun umbrella and taken off her gloves, 
took Bertie on ono knee and Jessie on the other, 
glancing from them to Constance, who was giving 
directions to the seamstress. Florence was a tall 
woman, slender and graceful, with gentle features, 
gazelle eyes and wavy brown hair. She wore the 
plainest and cheapest of dresses, made with as much 
care as if they were cut from the costliest materials, 
and always appeared to be well dressed. She pos- 
sessed repose of manner, and had the art of uncon- 
sciously making others quiet and courteous in their 
dealings with her. After a few minutes, the seam- 
stress disappeared with an armful of garments to an 
upper room, and Constance closed the door and 
turned to her friend. 


“ What troubles you, Florence ?” 


DIYOIICE. 


135 


'‘Yon knew there was something wong because 
I came at such an nnnsnal hour.” 

“And by your face.” 

“ I have lost my afternoon pupils, Constance, I 
want to tell you how it happened. The other day, 
Mrs. Waters asked me if I intended to continue 
teaching at Mrs. Whiting’s, I said ‘ yes,’ that I had 
been teaching her children for two years, and that 
she was quite satisfied with their progress. I never 
thought of her real motive for asking the question, 
so the next day, she said that I must make a choice 
between her and Mrs. Whiting. She said that she 
and Mr. Waters liked my method of instruction and 
saw that I had the gift of charming children, and all 
that, and would like to have my services for some 
years to come, in fact, so far as my ability was con- 
cerned they regretted the necessity of parting with 
me, but, it was utterly against their principles to 
have anything to do with a woman who lived apart 
from her husband, and, of course, if I chose to 
countenance Mrs. Whiting by going to her house in 
any capacity, they would not feel justified in leav- 
ing their children under my influence. She gave me 
several days to decide, and I felt that it would be 
very wrong on my part to leave Mrs. Whiting. She 
employed me first, and treats me as her friend, and 


130 


DIVORCE. 


I know no reason why I should do a thing that 
would, if told, be likely to injure her. Am I not 
right ?” 

“ I think you are, but, Florence, what a piece of 
injustice to you ! Did you tell Mrs. Whiting ?” 

Oh, no, I wouldn’t hurt her for any considera- 
tion.” 

“ But such a loss to you !” 

‘Wes, half what I earn. TheAVaters were liberal 
and paid me promptly. It is rather hard !” She 
stood up and walked up and down the room, fond- 
ling the children, and trying to hide her disappoint- 
ment by calling them pet names and kissing them. 

“Another thing, Constance, may I refer to you, if 
I hear of another engagement ? Ma saw at once, 
that I could not get pupils if I referred to Mrs. 
Whiting.” 

“ Or if you were known to teach in her house ! 

. Oh, Florence, you should have thought of yourself 
first !” 

“ How could I, Constance ? No, my first impulse 
was right. I would not dare to risk hurting a 
woman. Not that I am anybody, or possess any in- 
fluence, but I am a woman — ” 

“ You are a darling girl to act so nobly. Bert 


DIVORCE. 


137 


will soon be old enough to learn his letters from 
Auntie Florence, that’s one comfort.” 

“ You mustn’t think of such a thing Con., until he 
is seven years old.” 

“ Four years from now ! Oh, Bert., you are not 
much of a prospect I” 

Bert, laughed out and caught his mother around 
the neck, hugging her until she begged for mercy. 

Oh, Constance, he’ll kill you with love, do put 
him dowu. What a rogue he is! He has such 
lovely eyes ! Come along, Bert., and hug me, I need 
sympathy most.” 

But Bert, shook his curly head and clung to his 
mother. 

“I’ll have to be satisfied with Jessie’s passive en- 
durance. She is nearly asleep. Well, Con., isn’t it 
a curious world to make any headway in? One 
would suppose that so long as I behaved myself and 
taught conscientiously that I would escape notice 
and be allowed to earn my living in my quiet way.” 

“I think it is a very heartless action on Mrs. 
Waters’ part, Florence ; because she knows that 
you are supporting others, it is most unjust ! And 
she professes Christianity 1” 

“ She is doing right in her own estimation. She 
told me she was acting from the most conscientious 


138 


DIVOECE. 


motives, and I believe sbe is. I cannot quarrel 
witli her conclusions. To tell tlie trntb, she is the 
only one of the three who is observing fixed prin- 
ciples of right and wrong that have been established 
for ns by others. Mrs. Whiting is a law to herself, 
I decided as my conscience dictated ; but you see if 
each individual were to act by his ovm convictions, 
there would be as many codes of morality as there 
are people. It is better to follow one, even if some 
must suffer in the effort to do it thoroughly.” 

“ Then you think Mrs. Whiting is in the wrong.” 
^ “I think there is something radically wrong 
I somewhere, either in ourselves or in the ideas 
■ that are gaining ground so rapidly among us. We 
; were taught that sacred vows should be kept.” 

“ In both, pa says, they appeal to the w^eaknesses 
of our human nature, and are therefore acceptable. 
What can you and I do, Florence, darling ?” She 
threw her arms around her and their eyes met, with 
tears dimming the glance of understanding and 
sympathy. 

“ Only our best, I suppose, Constance.” 

When Florence went home, Constance dressed 
herseK and called on several friends who had young 
children, hoping to find pupils for her friend with- 
out delay. All she succeeded in doing was to get 


DIVOECE. 


139 


promises from several that they would consider the 
idea. When Gilbert came home she told him of the 
circumstance, speaking impulsively of its effect upon 
Florence. Sometimes his undemonstrative sympa- 
thy was rather chilling in its effect upon her. She 
could not tell by his face or manner whether he saw 
the unselfishness of Florence’s decision and her 
complete forgetfulness of her own interests. 

‘‘ I thought of telling Cora the whole matter,” she 
said, looking at him with her clear, steady eyes. 
‘‘ She might be able to help Florence.” 

‘‘ You must not do that. Cora would at once 
hurt her sister by showing her how her actions in- 
jure others. Let the subject rest for a short time. 
Mrs. Whiting will hear of the thing in some way, 
and she can arrange matters so that Miss Allman wiU 
not be any worse off for what has occurred.” 

Gilbert often used a tone of voice which Con-^ 
stance had learned to understand. It was decided 
and meant that argument would be useless. Weeks 
passed and Florence found no new pupils. Vaca- 
tion came, and the Whitings, mother and children, 
went to their cottage at Long Branch, and Florence 
had not been re-engaged for the next year, a fact 
which surprised her and gave her cause for much 
anxiety and vague misgivings. She had voluntarily 


140 


DITORCE. 


resigned from one good position and v/as now uncer- 
tain of being retained in tlie first. But in midsum- 
mer, slie received a letter from Mrs. Whiting, not 
only re-engaging her, but asking for more hours 
daily, and offering a salary which was equal to what 
she had been earning before her sudden break with 
Mrs. Waters. Florence in her joy wrote at once to 
accept Mrs. Whiting’s offer, and then wrote a long, 
bright letter to Constance, who was spending the 
summer at Catskill. In September, when these 
friends met they all congratulated each other upon 
looking so well. Constance was as fresh and sweet 
as a blossom, Florence had spent several charming 
weeks with her in the mountains. Mrs. Whiting 
had gained in every way ; her repose of manner and 
the disappearance of a care-worn expression from 
her features, restoring her to her natural ease, and 
former gayety of spirits. 

“I have had a delightful summer ! she exclaimed 
to Constance. “I should have conquered happi- 
ness sooner.” 

“ And your husband ?” Constance felt like saying, 
but she controlled the impulse and was silent. 
Mrs. Whiting had lovely plans for the v/inter. 
Constance having laid aside her heavy mourning 
would be able to share in the anticipated pleasures, 


DIYORCE. 


141 


and Gilbert who was listening to the descriptive 
programm® Entered heartily into the scheme. 

Private concerts to assist various charities, pri- 
vate theatricals to develop home talents, a reading 
club, musicals, in fact every imaginable pretext for 
amusement, combined with the exhibition of her ac- 
complishments, now occupied Mrs. Whiting’s time 
and thoughts. 

By December she was jubilant over the success 
of her well-conceived and finely-executed entertain- 
ments. In private, her friends might shake their 
heads, but it was impossible to decline the sweets 
she offered them. The tide began to turn, several 
persons pronounced her a magnificent woman, who 
had thrown herself away, matrimonially speaking, 
but had had the strength of mind aud the courage 
to take herself back, as it were, and make of herself 
what the Lord had intended her to be. 

“I live now!” she would say to Constance and 
Cora. “ I live spiritually and mentally, and every- 
day my powers seem to increase and expand ! 
How did I ever endure the cruel restraints that 
were put upon me 1 I can hardly realize that this 
time last year, I had to consult the whims of an un- 
reasonable man before venturing on the least ac- 


142 


L'lYOKCE. 


tion, even a visit to the theatre. Now, I am like a 
bird, I can soar.” 

“ I do hope you feel all you say, Maude, for you 
are certainly ‘ the observed of all observers,’ just 
now. Don’t finish by pointing a sad moral,” Cora 
Avould say, half in jest, and thoroughly in earnest. 
“ You have sent all my matrimonial chances fiying. 
I liavn’t had any serious attentions offered me these 
six months. I am regarded as one of your pupils 
and would-be imitators.” 

“ Take my advice and never marry!” said Mrs. 
Whiting, warmly. “ Look at me to-day, and re- 
member how I felt and appeared only a year ago !” 

“You forget that to experience your present bliss 
I should first suffer as you say you did,” was the 
sarcastic reply. “An unmarried woman couldn’t 
excite the attention and interest that you attract, 
and I havn’t your fortune to back me. This is an 
experiment, Maude.” 

“Well it is one worth a good trial. We’ll see if 
it fails 1” 

“ It is such a selfish one, Maude. You only think 
of yourself.” 

“ On the contrary, I am working for all the un- 
fortunate women who are in the position that I have 
escaped from.” 


DIVORCE, 


143 


“ Do you mean that every cause has its martyrs ?’' 

“No, indeed ! No martyr business for me. I 
am in the van as a victor.” 

Cora looked at Constance, who was always a sad 
and silent listener on these occasions, for she felt 
sorry for Cora’s humiliation, and remained unim- 
pressed by the results of the separation, as seen 
thus far. She generally left the sisters to end the 
conversation, and went to the school-room to see 
the children. In spite of her own happiness, her 
ignorance of the world and her wide sympathies with 
every one who suffered, Constance often felt that 
her. acquaintance with Mrs. "Whiting, and the inti- 
macy resulting from it, caused many of her heart- 
aches. Gilbert’s method of returning hospitality 
was for him costly and inconsistent, and he never 
allowed the domestic causes that kept Constance at 
home, to interfere with his social engagements. If 
the children were ailing he did not care to be 
troubled by the fact. He bore it philosophically 
and was impatient with Constance for giving way to 
fears and emotions. 

“The children were naturally healthy,” he told 
her, “they had proper care and a competent nurse, 
certain diseased were incidental to childhood, and 
were forgotten as soon as the slight pain connected 


144 


DIVORCE. 


with them had passed over. It was foolisli for her 
to spend anxious, sleepless nights, when the nurse 
was paid to relieve her of such exhausting duties.” 
:So it often happened that Constance sat still and 
heavy-hearted in the midst of a gay company, and 
listened with surprise, instead of pleasure, to Gil- 
bert’s voice singing or reading ; his ability to elude 
anxiety, being to her temperament, a source of 
ceaseless wonder. And this buoyancy and elastic- 
ity of spirits had not the power to influence Con- 
stance to any perceptible degree. Indifference 
does not excite hope, nor sustain faith, and very 
often Constance had to trust to these supports so 
as to appear in public with proper equanimity of 
voice and ’features. She was learning self-control, 
while apparently seeking pleasure at Gilbert’s side ; 
for unless she was physically unable to gO out, he 
always took her with him. It was an indication 
and a form of love that always impresses the major- 
ity with the truth of the existence of that passion ; 
and if Constance, in spite of her gleaming jewels 
and lovely costume, looked white and haggard, no 
one could blame Gilbert for the delicacy of her ap- 
pearance. 

He was always handsome, gay und genial, carry- 
ing with him the atmosphere of health and delight 


DIVOECE. 


14o 


in existence. Life gained in its fascination when he 
was of the company, he had the gift of using it so 
as to extract from it the greatest amount of goodly 
enjoyment. 

He was planning a charming entertainment, part 
masquerade, part musical, and Constance had her 
dress decided upon, and was trying to convince her- 
self that there was nothing inherently wrong in Gil- 
bert’s views of living so as to be able to assist him 
with light-hearted sincerity, when Mr. Morgan’s 
death ended her problem. 

The human machine had suddenly stopped, worn 
out by the monotonous, wearing action of a strictly 
business life, made perpetual with all the responsi- 
bilities that a large fortune entails upon its owner. 
Constanca was stunned by the unlooked for calam- 
ity, and in the utter absorption of her grief was 
shocked by the knowledge that the fortune had to 
be divided, and that the necessity was caused by her, 
acting through her husband, who was representing 
her in the business part of the matter. It was all 
set before her by her eldest brother, who came to 
her one morning, soon after Gilbert had left the 
house. 


X. 


This eldest brother had preferred a profession to 
a business, and had studied medicine. He married 
and settled in Philadelphia, where he had a steadily 
increasing practice, and for years, his visits to New 
York had been few, and far between. He only 
knew of his brother-in-law from hearsay, and his 
love for Constance was as negative,^ as was natural, 
considering the difference in their ages, and the 
long separation of interests and intercourse. He, 
however, felt very proud of her, and was fond 
of alluding to her as ‘‘my sister, Mrs. Travers,” 
being thoroughly aware .of certain qualities in her 
that he seldom met united in other women ; and 
very much impressed by her power of combin- 
ing elegance and simplicity in every matter that 
came under her supervision and direction. 

While he sat in the library, waiting for her, he 
noticed that the room had been lately redecorated 
146 


DIYOECE. 


147 


and furnished, and he admired the taste displayed 
in every detail, without at first being struck by the 
costliness of the appointments, that looked so very 
quiet and unostentatious. ^ 

He was speculating on the probable amount of 
his brother-in-law’s income, when Constance came 
softly through the long parlor, trying to repress the 
grief that his presence brought back, as bitter as it 
had been at first. He closely resembled his father, - 
and as he stood up to put his arms around her 
slight figure, his manner and expression were so 
familiar that she lost all control of herself and sob- 
bed aloud. He put her in a low chair, bending over 
her, and smoothing her hair from her forehead. 

“Constance, my dear girl! But it is better to cry 
than to repress the wish, it will relieve you, do you 
good.—” 

He stopped, ashamed of his professional tone and 
speech. He waited, walking back and forth, and 
looking curiously at the bric-a-brac about the room, 
while Constance dried her eyes, realized that he 
could not possibly understand what she felt, and at 
length turned to him, with an effort to forget her- 
self and her own wretchedness. 

“John, you’re not obliged to hurry back to Phil- 
adelphia, I hope.” 


148 


DIVORCE. 


‘‘Well, I should go to-niglit; but if Gilbert will 
not agree to what the rest of us desire, why, I shall 
have to remain here for some time. Did he tell 
you wliTit we want to do?” She looked up, sur- 
prised at both tone and words. 

“No, he said he would save me the trouble and 
pain of listening to all those business details, the 
mere thought of it is enough — The idea of others 
having pa’s affairs to settle — He was so proud of 
being able to arrange things and manage for himself, 
and to realize that only a week ago he sat here with 
nie, and talked of his property, how nicely every- 
thing was laid out, and how well satisfied he was 
with his investments — ” She ceased and began to 
tremble. 

“Why, Constance, was pa in the habit of talking 
over his business with you?” 

“Oh, yes, indeed.” 

“And Gilbert heard him, too?” 

“Oh, no, pa would come here just when he felt 
like it, and we were generally alone together,” 

Dr. Morgan sat up, his eyes brightened and he 
drew his chair close to his sister’s, 

“You say he made those remarks within a few 
weeks ? ” 

“Yes, I am sure he did. He had several deeds 


DIVORCE. 


149 


that he showed me, deeds of lots that he had 
bought, I think in one of the new streets.” 

“Exactly! When I was here, a month ago, he 
showed me just how his affairs stood, and we talked 
over the prospects, pro an4 con. You know he had 
no premonition of his death. He spoke as if he 
expected to live to see these investments pay.” 

“I know it.”, 

“ Constance, he left no will that we can use. The 
last was made before mother’s death. In that, 
everything, of course, was left to her. What an 
oversight! What a mistake! Now, you see, comes 
trouble! The engineer dies at his post, and the 
train goes to destruction ! ” 

“But, John, w^hat is so wrong? What difference 
can it make? Pa was so honest, so good, surely, 
everything is just as it should be?” 

“ Oh. yes, so we say ; we want the property held 
together just as it is. We six, to share the income 
after all the proper expenses have been paid.” 
“Well!” • 

“Well, you are the youngest of the six. You 
should agree with us. I am not going to take any 
advantage of your ignorance of the whole matter, 
Constance, how old are you?” 

“Twenty-three, next month.” 


150 


DIVORCE. 


“Then you are old enough to look into this 
business, and judge for yourself, Gilbert to the con- 
trary.” 

Constance flushed and suddenly raised her eyes 
to her brother’s. 

“Why, John!” 

“Oh, yes, Gilbert says you are a child, that you 
know nothing of money, or its value, that you tell 
him to do what is best for your interests. Well, 
Gilbert wants the whole property sold, and the pro- 
ceeds divided. Stay, let me explain, carefully. 
Gilbert is saying what he thinks is right and best, 
but I want to show you our side ; that is what flve 
think against one.” 

Constance watched him intently. 

“ Con. you’re my sister, and one of us ; I am per- 
fectly straightforward and candid in the matter. 
Uncle Frank told me last night that it would be 
useless to speak to you, that whatever Gilbert 
wished was law to you. Now the point is to win 
over Gilbert to our view of the case. I suppose we 
feel more deeply on the subject than he possibly 
can. We are proud of our father’s life, and we all 
would like, as far as possible, to carry out his in- 
tentions in every respect. He certainly meant to 
keep his estate intact, and I argue that had he lived. 


DIVORCE. 


151 


that would have been his object and occupation. 
Now, we are all men and women ; for years we have 
lived without help from him, and as a matter of 
pride, and to show that we respect his wishes and 
his memory, we ought to keep things as he left 
them. It will be better for us all eventually. The 
property is all good and a great deal of it must in- 
crease in value. I suppose that he intended to 
make a will of such a nature that the real estate 
would be held and improved by his heirs. How- 
ever, that is not worth discussing. He is not the 
first thorough business man who forgot to leave a 
will that would make his wishes binding. We have 
nothing to urge but our knowledge of his intentions, 
our own desires, and our future advantage. If you 
can use your influence with Gilbert, I wish you 
would for the sake of the family. Eemember, pa 
spent thirty-five years amassing this property for 
us, and as a Morgan, you must feel some interest in 
protecting it, not only for his children, but for those 
who are to come after us. There was a great deal 
of plain talking done yesterday in Uncle Frank’s 
ofiice, but Gilbert was persistent. He doesn’t be- 
lieve in real estate or unimproved property, and he 
wants a division. Well, now candidly, Constance, 
what do you think?” 


152 


DIVOKCE. 


“ I wisli pa liad made a will ! I think as you do ! 
I’d keep a stick or a stone if pa bought it and 
wanted it preserved! What did Mary and Jessie 
say ?” 

“ Why, what I do, of course. And Charley and 
Percy being in the business are even more anxious 
to keep pa’s name and property, as it were, identi- 
fied. You don’t look very strong, Constance. Were 
you quite well up to last week ?” 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“Well, my girl, you must give up fretting, and 
think a little of ^^ourself, besides, you have children 
to look out for. Are they here ? I only caught a 
glimpse of them one day.” 

“Yes, I’ll bring them down, or will you come up 
stairs ? It is brighter in the sitting-room. Pa used 
this writing table so much that I feel nervous in 
this room, I can imagine him speaking to me.” 

“ Con., they all tell me that you were his pet.” 

“ I don’t think that, but for two years, ever since 
ma’s death, he has come every day to see me. He 
was very fond of the children.” 

She went up ahead of him. Bert, was sailing a 
little yacht in the bath-tub, and Jessie was indus- 
triously pulling a rag-doll to pieces. The strange 
uncle with his stories of little Philadelphia cousins 


DIVORCE. 


153 


and tlieir doings proved very attractive. Bert, ex- 
hibited his stock of dilapidated toys, and Jessie was 
quite willing to go home with him. Constance list- 
ened to the nonsense too nervous and anxious to 
even seem amused. At length the “ dear Uncle 
John ” took his departure ; he was stopping at the 
old home on Fifth avenue, and would return in the 
morning to hear the result of his sister’s efforts lor 
her own people. 

That night there was a family council held at old 
Mrs. Morgan’s. Gilbert and Constance only were 
absent, but they furnished the others with conver- 
sation without end. Mrs. Morgan was in the room 
mentally bright, physically very feeble. She could 
not reconcile herself to the fact that John was dead, 
gone before her, her eldest born, the strong, honest, 
warm-hearted man, who had never forgotten to 
provide for her comfort no matter v/ho else might 
share in it or benefit by his generosity. 

“Do not quarrel over your father’s money,” she 
said to her grand-children in turn. “ Gilbert is too 
fond of Constance to do anything that would injure 
her interests.” 

“And too fond of himself,” said Alice Morgan in an 
undertone to her niece, Mary Belden, who silently 
agreed with her. 


154 


DIVORCE. 


“ Wliy it is all as plain as daylight ” said Mr Lacy. 
“ Travers wants his wife’s property to speculate with. 
He does’nt want it tied up where he can’t manage it.” 

“ What ? is Travers inclined to speculate ? ” asked 
Dr Morgan. 

“ Oh yes, he’s always dabbling in stocks, makes, 
too, on the whole. He’s sharp. He never could 
run the house as he does on his salary. I am posi- 
tive from things that John knew about, that he had 
, some plan for leaving the property so that it could 
liot be cut up and frittered away in these wild 
investments. Dear me ! Well, nothing can be done 

Constance fails.” 

“ Still, you say he is a successful speculator,” said 
Mr. Parker, who rather longed to indulge in risking 
a small sum, but had hitherto been kept in check by 
his family’s demands upon his salary, and his better 
judgment. 

“ Oh, if he gets control of Con’s, share, he’ll take 
care of it. But if there is a division he will do as 
he likes with it. Con. has no will but his !” 

She is a perfect little slave to him!” said Jessie 
Mellick. “ I never saw a man exact so much from 
a wife as Gilbert does!” Dr. Morgan turned to 
look at his sisters. 

Why, what are you talking about! I saw Con- 


DIYOBCE. 


155 


stance to-day. Of course, slie looks pale from fret- 
ting, but I never saw a woman so surrounded by 
comforts, luxuries in fact, and she is really hand- 
somer to-day than she was when she was married. 
If she is my sister, I could not help admiring her.” 

Oh the girls don’t mean that Gilbert is un- 
kind,” said Mrs. Lacy, quickly. “ On the contrary, 
he is in his way devoted to his wife, and she enjoys 
his exactions, if you like to give them that name. 
All they mean is, that Gilbert always decides for 
her. You’ll find it out to-morrow morning. He 
rules and Constance likes him all the better for it.” 

Where there are two strong wills one must of 
necessity yield to the other,” said Mrs. Morgan, 
slowly. “ It would be very sad for Constance if she 
should come to feel and believe that her will was 
the better of the two. The moment she distrusts 
Gilbert’s superior wisdom and knowledge, that 
moment her happiness is in danger. Don’t inter- 
fere between them. They are happy, and Constance 
is so thoroughly good that she cannot fail to remain 
so. And don’t begin a family quarrel over money.” 

‘‘ By the way, how did that Whiting affair turn 
out ?” Dr. Morgan abruptly asked, some minutes 
later. 

‘^Oh, just as you might imagine. Whiting is 


156 


DIVORCE. 


going to the devil as fast as his legs can carry him,” 
said Mr. Lacy. 

“ I think his wife is responsible,” said Mr. Parker. 

“ John, there is one example of Gilbert’s influence 
with Constance,” said Alice Morgan. ‘‘ He persists 
in keeping up an intimate friendship with Mrs. 
Whiting, and Constance and she are very much to- 
gether. Now, we all know that Con. never liked the 
Leavitts, and left to herself would have avoided 
their acquaintance. As it is, she is drawn into this 
family trouble, Mrs. Whiting and Cora I think go to 
Constance with all their grievances. I know I meet 
them there continually. Constance never repeats 
what they tell her, but Gilbert rather boasts of the 
fact that they go to his little wife for advice and 
consolation.” 

“ I would keep her away from them !” said Percy 
Morgan. 

By the hour that Gilbert came home that after- 
noon Constance had worked herself into a nervous, 
excitable state of mind that he was conscious of as 
soon as he saw her. He leisurely hung up his 
crape-banded hat and drew off his black gloves, 
while she stood in the upper hall, waiting to pour 
out her whole heart to him. 

At length he was in their room and she could 


DIVOBCE. 


157 


speak imlieard. Wlien he bent to kiss her she put 
her arms around his neck and rested her head on 
his breast, looking straight in his eyes, they were 
cool and searching, hers bright and dilated. 

“ Oh Gilbert, I am so glad* you are home ! John 
came to see me just after you went away. Gilbert, 
you’ll agree to do what the others wish, I’m sure !” 

He paused some seconds, struck by the entire 
absence of self-assertion in her words and manner. 
Then he drew her close to him and kissed her pas- 
sionately, his glance softened into a strange, ming- 
ling of worship and tenderness, his voice was caress- 
ing, wooing confidence. 

“ I suppose he told you their view of the case,” 
he sat down holding her on his knees. 

“ Why didn’t you tell me, Gilbert ?” 

“ I see that I might as well have done so at first. 
I wanted to save you all this anxiety, this necessity 
for weighing both sides and reaching a wise deci- 
sion. I did it all for you, and I spoke plainly 
enough yesterday to all of them. I suppose John 
told you.” 

‘‘Yes, and I have been thinking ever since of all 
he said to me. I would like to do what the others 
wish. I am the youngest, I ought not to act against 
the other five, besides, I know that pa wanted his 


158 


DIVOECE. 


property kept togetlier. He spoke to me of liis 
hopes and intentions just as he did to John.” 

“ Did you tell John that?” his voice changed. 

“ Oh,' yes. You know that any wish of pa’s is 
sacred to me. We don’t need money, Gilbert. Our 
share of the income would be all we could want if 
you wished to use money in business.” 

He smiled at her ignorance and impulsive gener- 
osity. 

“ Constance you talk and act like — well, like just 
what you are, a dear little, innocent girl. Your 
emotions are stronger than your reasoning faculties, 
and your brothers and sisters are willing to take ad- 
vantage of the fact.” 

“ Why no, I feel as they do, and their interests 
and mine are the same.” 

“ Oh they think they are consulting their owm in- 
terests by deciding to hold the property — ” 

“Then why not do it for the sake of pa’s mem- 
ory ?” 

“ Because it, is too important a matter to trust to 
mere sentiment. Sentiment is very well in its way, 
but when it comes to risking a fortune for the sake 
of indulging in it, I think it is lucky for you that 
you have a husband with ^ome ideas of common 
sense to step in and prevent any such folly.” 


DIVORCE. 


159 


“But the others — ” 

“ Oh pshaw ! They are not business men. Bel- 
den and Mellick never had any money to invest, 
they know nothing about handling it, and they have 
always put confidence in your father’s business 
foresight, and are satisfied to accept the result of 
any investment that he saw fit to make. Your 
brothers argue in the same way. But I never did 
agree in your father’s preference for real estate. It 
is simply sinking money. A man puts money in 
lots, and he could turn it over half a dozen times 
in other speculations and make by all of them 
while waiting for the lots to reach some fabulous 
value. Meanwhile they are eating themselves tip 
between taxes and assessments, and his grandchild- 
ren may realize on them. In a year, your brothers 
and sisters will thank me for forcing them to sell 
now. Beal estate is going down, if your father had 
lived a few years longer and had persisted in hold- 
ing on to his property he would have died a poor 
man. No advance in it is probable or even pos- 
sible for years to come, and after a while we should 
be taxed yearly to keep it for our children. Oh, no, 
Constance. I look at things as they are. Why 
this house wouldn’t bring to-day what your father 
paid for it. We’ll hold on to this as he bought it 


160 


DIVOECE. 


for you, but for the rest, I want to see if your 
money can’t do better than turn in seven per cent, 
for you. Why it would double itself in a few years 
in some investments that I know of. Let me show 
you a list of the property and explain the amount 
of taxes that has to be paid yearly.” 

It took some time, Constance looked and listened 
:and compared his doubts with her father’s hopes, 

. and saw clearly that what had been pleasure to one 
man was vexation to another. 

“ Well, now, what do you think ?” he asked at 
last. 

“ Oh, Gilbert, if left to myself I would be satis- 
fied with the small per cent, and carry out pa’s in- 
tentions. I have no heart to oppose his wishes and 
my own people. It seems to me that there is some- 
thing sacred in anything that is built honestly and 
with right motives. W^illingly I would not destroy 
a letter that pa wrote, how then can I voluntarily 
help to break up this, his life’s work? I would 
rather economize, if necessary work, to keep it as 
he left it !” 

Gilbert put her off his knees and began to walk 
back and forth through the rooms. Constance sat 
down near the table, and putting the list before her, 
mentally saw each house and piece of property 


DIVORCE. 


161 


mentioned in it. How often as a child and woman 
she had gone with her father to inspect these vari- 
ous possessions ! Real estate ! How tangible and 
real they all appeared ! The solid houses, the 
empty, grassy lots, before which he used to stand 
musing, as if mentally seeing the buildings that he 
intended to put upon them. Her dear, honest 
father ! The tears welled in her eyes and fell on 
the paper before her. Gilbert stopped beside her 
and laid his hand heavily on her shoulder. His 
voice was cold -and full of irony. 

Constance, you used to have some confidence in 
me.” 

Oh, Gilbert ! how can you speak so to me ? I 
have confidence in you ! I know you want to do 
what is best for me, but I — Oh, I never supposed 
that owning a thing could make any one so 
wretched ! I dread the responsibility, the conse- 
quences !” 

“ I don’t understand you — ” 

“ Why, it will be directly opposing the others, 
whose rights are as strong as mine, and doing what 
I know was against pa’s wishes — that hurts me 
most !” 

‘‘ Still, one-sixth of this property is yours, and if 
you are the youngest, your rights are all equal. If 


162 


DIVORCE. 


Mellick or Belden wanted a division lie would have 
it, you would have nothing to say. They all know 
. that you have strong feelings, and a keen sense of 
duty, and they are playing upon your sentiments as 
a daughter and sister. They forget — and you seem 
inclined to do it, too, that you are a wife and a 
mother.” He stopped, saw that she had grown sud- 
denly white and motionless, and taking her in his 
arms, he put her head against his breast, kissed her 
and spoke tenderly and feelingly. “ Dot, I yield all 
my rights or wishes as a husband, but for your own 
sake, and for the children’s, I ask you now to be 
guided by me in this matter. You can’t realize its 
importance, but I can and do. Come, put your 
arms around my neck and kiss me, I didn’t mean to 
hurt you so much. I know you would do anything 
for me — ” 

He held her till she ceased trembling, and was 
able to return his kisses and speak to him, then he 
went over his wishes and hopes in a general, sooth- 
ing way. 

“You need not see your brother. Write a note 
this evening and I will send it to him. You can tell 
him that ‘ after due consideration of his proposi- 
tion you have concluded to let Gilbert decide for 
you.’ If he saw you -at present, I am afraid he 


DIVORCE. 


163 


would make up liis mind tliat you were forced to 
agree with me, and I don’t want such an impression 
as that to go abroad. I don’t suppose you do 
either. I’m not quite as bad as that.” She clung 
to him, smiling faintly as she spoke. 

“Oh, no, Gilbert, that would not be true. Show- 
ing me my higher duty is not forcing me to do right.” 

Later she wrote the note and showed it to him. 
He changed a few of the sentences, and she rewrote 
it with the proper corrections, and it was sent to 
the doctor. In the morning she detained Gilbert 
as he was going away, putting the list of the pro- 
perty before him, and speaking earnestly, with her 
gentle, appealing eyes, raised to his : 

“Gilbert,! wanted to ask you if the property 
could be divided as it is ?” 

He made an impatient movement and was turn- 
ing away. 

“Listen to mO, you could do as you please vdth 
my share, and the others could keep or sell theirs, 
as they like. I was looking at it this morning. It 
could be so very equally divided, both the houses 
and lots, and I should think it would sell better in 
parts than all together. See, these six houses on 
Thirty-ninth street, one is as good as the other. 
We could draw lots for them, and in that way 


164 


DIVORCE. 


divide everything. Will you think it over, Gilbert ? 
It would make me so very happy. You would be 
satisfied, and the others could find no fault with 
such an arrangement. It would leave five-sixths of 
the property for us to delight our eyes with as pa’s 
estate.” 

“ I’ll think about it, Constance. I’ll see if it vdll 
be as fair for your interests as the other plan. I 
am only acting for you in the matter, remember, and 
your interests must come before your feelings.” 

He kissed her and went away. Late in the after- 
noon Dr. Morgan and Mr. Lacy surprised her with 
a visit, both gentlemen looking pleased and speak- 
ing in cheerful, contented tones. 

“ We have come to an amicable agreement, Con.,” 
said the doctor. “Your last proposition suited all 
parties. I’m off this evening for home. Uncle Frank 
will look after our interests in the matter, and Gil- 
bert’s lawyer will take care of yours. It is quite a 
relief!” 

“And you a;re all quite satisfied, John ? You 
think it all perfectly just and fair ? I don’t inter- 
fere in any way with your rights or injure your 
share of the property.” 

“Not at all. It so happens that a division can 
be made without the least injustice to any one of 


DIVOKCE. 


165 


us. Gilbert will explain it all to you, lie has the 
valuation and the papers showing the exact situa- 
tion of each piece of property.” 

“Constance, of course, we all understand that Gil- 
bert is to settle everything on you, in case he sells 
what is yours now and makes other investments 
with the proceeds,” said Mr. Lacy in an off-hand 
manner, which simply amused Constance. 


XI. 


“ Gilbert did not let the grass grow under his 
feet,” to quote Mrs. Lacy. Constance was to be 
put in legal possession of her share of her father’s 
estate, as rapidly as was possible, and meanwhile 
Gilbert set about carrying out certain plans of his 
own. He concluded to add an extension to the 
house, and put a Mansard roof upon it, and while 
these improvements were in progress he proposed 
to remove his family to a pretty little cottage at 
Long Branch, about ten minutes’ walk from Mrs. 
Whiting’s. 

Constance had agreed willingly to the alterations 
in the house, although some of Gilbert’s reasons for 
having them made rather jarred upon her own ideas 
and wishes. 

“ The children are growing too large to keep them 
on the floor with us,” he said, decidedly, “ they 
need a nursery and sleeping-rooms up stairs. 

166 


DIVORCE. 


167 


Then, they can make all the noise they pleaSe with- 
out disturbing us.” 

The proposition to spend four or five months at 
the sea shore was so repugnant to Constance that 
she listened to Gilbert for some moments without 
trusting herself to speak. They were at dinner, and 
he w*as trifling with some nuts and fruit while he 
explained the position and convenience of the cot- 
tage he had in view. 

“I should prefer the mountains, Gilbert. The 
air is so much better for the children.” 

“ Nonsense ! the children will grow much stronger 
on the sea-shore. Is that your only reason ?” 

“ I think it is the most sensible reason. You 
know, I don’t like the associations connected with 
Long Branch. Isn’t there some other place on the 
sea-shore that would suit us as well ?” 

No, the place is just what I need. I can see 
my friends there, and I have several important 
things on hand just at present, and the men with 
whom I am dealing are going to be there for the 
season. In fact, I have almost agreed to buy .the 
cottage.” 

“ Buy it ?” Constance flushed jDainfully. 

“ Now, don’t look so miserable over the matter. 
I never saw a woman like you ! You can’t conceal 


ICS 


DIVOKCE. 


your feelings on a subject for a moment. I was 
going to say, that I thought of your comfort more 
than of my own. I can be home every evening, 
and you will have your friends right at your door 
so that you can’t lack companionship through the 
day. Cora will be with her sister the greater part 
of the time, and that wdll be very pleasant for both 
of you. You know that you don’t make acquaint- 
ances easily, and in strange country places you al- 
ways suffer from loneliness when I am away from 
you.” 

“Still the children are older now, and more com- 
panionable, I don’t think I should feel it as much 
as I used to.” 

“Well, now, Constance, you know as well as I do 
that you will need perfect rest and pleasant com- 
panionship this summer. You can’t undertake de- 
voting yourself to the children. Kate will have to 
look after them, and keep them from worrying you. 
You are Tvearing heavy mourning; you wont see 
strangers, then what are you to do for recreation 
unless you have friends near you and have a house 
of your own where your own people can visit you.” 
Constance looked up, her eyes glowing. 

“ Oh, Gilbert, I didn’t think of that — ” 

“ Of course not, you only saw the thing connected 


DIVORCE. 


169 


with what is past. You forgot the present and the 
future. I always look at them first. I know you 
will like the place when you see it, and I expect 
that we shall have a very nice time down there, this 
summer. There is no reason why we shouldn’t. I 
need a change — ” 

“I didn’t mean to be selfish and forget you,” she 
said, bending forward and i)utting her hand on his. 
“I feel so much like being quiet, and away from ex- 
citement that sometimes I do not think of you as I 
should.” 

“ Oh, I wont agree to that, pet. You are thor- 
oughly unselfish. So you see, this place will serve 
two purposes, you can be as retired as you please 
there, and I shall be within walking distance of all 
the excitement I can desire.” 

He laughed at her for taking blame on herself for 
being thoughtless of him, and drawing her to his 
side, began to tell her of an investment he was about 
to make with the money she had received for the 
Thirty-ninth street house, the first piece of her 
property which they had sold. 

Constance listened with pleasure and sympathised 
with his hopes and expectations, and asked if she 
was to sign anything. Then he explained that he 
could buy anything he wished, alone, but that h© 


170 


DIVORCE. 


■could not sell property without her signature. | 
Then she laughed, and recalled a form of words j 
that the notary had hurriedly repeated to her before j 
she signed the conveyance of the Thirty-ninth street | 
house. It was to the effect that she did it freely 
and without fear or compulsion. Gilbert looked 
amused at her utter rejection of the idea that he 
would force her to do anything contrary to her own 
sense of what was right. Then they returned to 
the contemplation of the new investment. Con- 
stance had never seen Gilbert so excited over any- 
thing. His eyes sparkled, his cheeks reddened, he 
had not words to express the advantages to be gained 
by taking the third of this silver mine in Nevada. 

He had a map of the mine showing its situation and 
the work already accomplished, and some specimens 
of the ore. One of the third owners was in business 
difficulties, and was willing to take a sum far 
beneath the present value for his interest in the 
mine. He had offered it to Gilbert first, and if 
Constance was satisfied Gilbert would be delighted 
to become the owmer of this future fortune, which 
was, in fact, limitless. Gilbert had spent days ex- 
amining all the references furnished him. He had 
seen and talked with the other third owners, had 
consulted with owners of claims in the vicinity of ' 


DIVOECE. 


171 


this mine, and had, in fact thoroughly investigated 
the whole matter in its smallest details. His Avould- 
be partners in the speculation were quite willing to 
buy out the interest of which he had the refusal, 
and this desire on their part prompted him to hold 
on to the charming offer and accept it. Constance 
was easily convinced of the wisdom of Gilbert’s 
proposition. He told her stories of fortunes made 
in mines that sounded like fairy tales. Aladdin’s 
lamp was quite surpassed in its powers, by the 
results following the purchase of a few thousand 
dollars’ worth of mining stock. Gilbert sat at home 
and talked mines the whole evening. He had books 
and charts and specimens, and his wife’s consent to 
iise her money in the venture, if he wished. He 
would lean back in his chair, or throw himself on 
the lounge to enjoy the Spanish castles that his ima- 
gination was building. 

Constance had no visions. She was contented 
and happy in her present surroundings, her sole am- 
bition was to make her husband and children happy, 
her prayer that they might be spared to her. So she 
smiled at Gilbert, putting aside her work to enjoy 
his perfect bliss. 

• “You shall have your carriage yet. Dot!” he ex- 
claimed. 


172 


DIVOllCE. 


She laughed at his enthusiasm, it made him more 
charming. 

‘‘I know jou are not very anxious to own a car- 
riage ; but you would like to see me able to resign 
my present very handsome salary and take you and 
the babies to Europe for an indefinite stay.” 

“Yes, I would like that, Gilbert. It would be 
charming. I would have you all to myself, and we 
could enjoy everything togetliQr.” His answer was 
his winning, irresistible smile. 

After a long silence she went to him and put her 
arms around his neck. “ Gilbert, have we enough 
as it is, to live iipon in Europe ? People tell me 
that life there can be made so enjoyable on a small 
income. I am very happy here, but you have to 
work so hard, and it is so monotonous for you.” 

“We couldn’t live as we would like on your in- 
come, as it is to-day. The only way, is to sell all 
the property, as I told you, and invest the money 
in things that yield a larger per cent. When that is 
all properly done, I suppose I could resign, and go 
to Europe. The rest would be perfectly delightful. 
How we Americans do work, anyhow! With the 
exception of a few country trips, I have spent my 
life, since I was eighteen years of age, inside of an 
office. Fifteen years, eh. Dot. That seems a long 


DIVOKCE. 


173 


time, looking forward, but it has passed very 
quickly, and on the whole, happily. I’m not such 
a delicate looking fellow, after all. 'Well, I inher- 
ited a sound constitution, and I always knew enough 
to leave my business behind me when I left the office. 
Plenty of time yet for our European trip ! But we 
must have it one of these days, it is on the cards.” 

“It seems curious to me,” said Constance, 
thoughtfully, “that pa never invested in stock of 
the kind you like to buy.” Gilbert clasped his 
hands under his head and gazed at the ceiling. 

“Well, he w^as rather old-fogyish in that respect. 
He commenced investing in real estate years ago, 
and it .suited him to put his money where he could 
see it. All these Western speculations were, to 
him, distant and uncertain. They belong to an- 
other generation. I’d like to take a trip out there, 
and see this mine.” 

“But not now, Gilbert!” 

“Oh, no, later on perhaps, when I can take the 
time.” 

“And me,” said Constance, with one of her bright 
smiles. “I can stand any amount of rough travel- 
ling, if there is something new to be seen for the 
trouble.” 

He smoked for some seconds without speaking, 


174 


DIVORCE. 


then he said, looking searchingly at her colorless 
face and slight figure, “ Such a change might do you 
a great deal of good.” 

“Why, I feel perfectly strong, Gilbert.” 

“Yes, I know, you are strong, but it would build 
you right up, make you red-cheeked and robust, like 
I am.” 

“Don’t I do you credit, Gilbert? I thought if 
people felt happy they generally looked so.” 

“ I haven’t found any fault. Dot. I don’t think 
those heavy black dresses are any improvement; 
they make you look whiter and smaller than ever. 
You wont wear them through the summer?” 

“No, I am going to get thinner ones and some 
white ones for the house.” 

“That will be quite a relief,” he sighed. “By the 
way, Dot, love, say nothing about this business to 
your family. They would all grow alarmed and tell 
you that I was squandering your money. I have my 
own plan about it. The first money I realize from 
this mine I will put in some safe security here, for 
you. Once I have put back the original amount 
with the interest, they can have nothing to say. I 
simply borrow it now to speculate with, if you can 
call a safe investment a speculation. 

“ Well, but Gilbert what is mine is yours, and I 


DIVORCE. 


175 


don’t like yon to speak or think of it in any other 
Way.” 

She smiled hnt the tears were in her eyes. 

“What a child you are, Constance! But I am 
not going to take advantage of your innocent trust 
in me. I owe it to myself to be scrupulously honest 
in pecuniary matters, toward you as well as toward 
strangers. I must keep your respect as well as 
your love. Besides, what your father left you is in 
reality a trust for the children. I can increase it 
by a careful management of it, but the original capi- 
tal I should like to keep intact for them.” 

“ I suppose men find pleasure in using money in 
these various ways.” 

“ Oh, yes. It is very exciting and when a man is 
successful he can do no end of good with his capi- 
tal. To-day, there are thousands of fine projects 
all languishing for the lack of a little money to give 
them a start or a push. I know a man, a mechani- 
cal genius, who has patented several useful 
machines, but he hasn’t the capital to put them in 
the market. You would like to help such a man as 
he is.” 

“ Yes, indeed ; could we ?” 

“Not just at present, but I’ll think about it.” 

Having bought the mining interest and the cot- 


176 


DIVORCE. 


tage Gilbert’s happiness was for the time complete. 
The house was now the object of his cares. The 
furniture that Constance wished to preserve was 
ijent to the cottage, together with her pictures, 
books and bric-a-brac, and the rest was sold at auc- 
.tion. Constance and the children being settled in 
the summer house, the city house was given up to 
workmen, and between his regular business, his in- 
vestment, superintending the improvements and the 
pursuit of pleasure, Gilbert really lived and enjoyed 
every hour of his life. 

His splendid muscular vigor and his active brain 
had full scope for development and exercise, and he 
carried into everything the magnetic fascinations of 
perfect health and a genial nature overflowing with 
self-satisfaction. 

Constance was thoroughly aware of her new re- 
sponsibilities, and very anxious to do justice to 
everything and everybody, an endeavor that in- 
volves much self-sacrifice. It took some w'eeks for 
domestic affairs to run smoothly, and then she tried 
her plan of enjoying visits from her relatives and 
very dear friends. It was not so delightful, on the 
whole, as she had pictured it to herself. With the 
exception of her grandmother’s visit, which was a 
charming success for the old lady enjoyed every 


])IVORCE. 


177 


moment of lier stay with her grand-daughter, Con- 
stance found her efforts exhaustive and unsatisfac- 
tory. Every one came, every one declared that he 
or she was having a delightful time, but to Con- 
stance some element w'as lacking to make the har- 
mony complete. 

It was possible that her relatives expected to 
mingle in the public amusements of the place, and 
were disappointed at the perfect honesty of the in- 
vitation sent them, for Constance was candid in ad- 
vance as to the quiet monotony of her country 
home. Sometimes she fancied that the fault lay in 
her own mind, that perhaps it was not in accord 
with the life she was leading, for when she sat down 
to consider and compare, she was frightened at the 
vast difference between her past theories and her 
present practice. At times her former dislike to 
the place came over her with painful force. It was 
the same old story. She saw little or nothing of 
her husband. He appeared at breakfast, and at the 
late supper, and when he had an opportunity he 
drove her out in a light wagon he had hired for her 
comfort and the pleasure of her guests, but his 
evenings were generally spent at the hotels, and he 
had had a room across the hall from hers furnished 
for himself, so as not to disturb her when he was 


178 


DIVORCE. 


out very late. It was a curious way of showing 
consideration for her, for she never slept until she 
heard him come home. Mrs. Whiting was also liv- 
ing very quietly, and she did all she could in her 
graceful way to add to the enjoyment of the persons 
visiting Constance. She gave lunch parties in their 
honor, and they accepted her invitations, and 
looked askance at her easy chairs, as if there was 
something morally crooked even in the furniture of 
her house. So her attempts to make things gayer 
for Constance were not brilliant successes. 

In July, a cousin of hers arrived to spend a few 
days, bringing with her trunks enough for Q; per- 
petual visit. Miss Daisy Leavitt was an exagger- 
ated likeness of Cora, with still more brilliant col- 
oring, being of a dazzling type of blonde beauty, 
and possessing large, cold, stealdy blue eyes that 
excited in Constance her old intuitive repugnance 
to the whole family. Miss Daisy’s presence not 
only scattered the monotomy of Mrs. Whiting’s ex- 
istence, but threatened to put an end to the rest that 
Constance was trying to enjoy. 

Of course Daisy came for pleasure, not for retire- 
ment. In a few days “life at Mrs. Whiting’s,” to 
quote Alice Morgan, “ resembled a modern comedy.” 
There were visitors coming from morning till night, 


BITOECE. 


179 


pleasure parties, musical matinees and dinners. 
Daisy lield court on tlie piazza, on tlie lawn, in the 
cool parlors, anywhere where there was room for the 
knot of gentlemen who hastened to offer their at- 
tentions, and see that she had a thoroughly nice 
time. 

Gilbert proposed a few dinner parties ‘‘ on the 
quiet” and Constance reluctantly agreed to his 
wishes. 

After a few weeks had gone over it was generally 
understood that Daisy had several suitors, and 
would remain until one was definitely preferred. 

Constance heard of all that she did not witness. 
Gilbert accepted the invitations that she declined, 
and gave her graphic accounts of what took place. 
Cora came to her with a woman’s impressions, and 
Mrs. Whiting declared that when worn out at home, 
she found rest and peace in the cottage with Con- 
stance. 

One morning, when Constance was writing to her 
grandmother, Cora came through the open window 
from the porch, and telling her to finish her letter 
first, she sat down in a darkened corner of the 
room, quiet and preoccupied. 

‘‘I want to talk to you, Constance ; something 


180 


DIVOECE. 


troubles me. Wliere is your husband ?” she said as 
Constance held up the sealed envelope. 

“ He’s gone to the city.” 

“Are you sure ?” 

“ Oh yes. He had important business to attend 
to and he may stay there all night. Why ?” 

“ Oh, I don’t want him to come in and interrupt 
us. I want your honest advice about something.” 

“ Then come up to my room. The children are 
out in the summer-house, and th ^re is no one up 
stairs.” 

They went up arm-in-arm, Constance looking 
very sweet and delicate in her white morning dress 
and black ribbons and Cora quite picturesque in her 
flowered lavm and violet ornaments. She spoke ab- 
ruptly ; _ 

“ What do you think of Mr. Mar chant ?” 

“How do you mean? I have only seen him a 
few times.” 

“You talked to him the other evening at dinner.” 

“ Yes, I know, he is very handsome, very sincere 
looking. What do you want me to say, Cora?” 

She looked up smiling and saw that Cora’s eyes 
were full of tears and her cheeks burning. 

“ Why, Cora what is the matter with you?” 

“ Oh misery, as usual. I don’t understand any- 


DIVOBCE. 


181 


body, not even Maude ! Constance, I trust you. 
You will be true to me.” 

“ Cora, is Mr. Mar chant paying you attention 
seriously ? ” 

“ That is the very thing that puzzles me! I can- 
not reconcile his manner and what he says at times, 
unless he is serious; and then, again— Oh, Con- 
stance, I am in such a false position, through 
Maude’s folly! Do you think he could be simply 
amusing himself at the expense of both of us ? You 
see he is very polite and attentive to her, and she 
really — ” 

She ceased, struck by the blank unconsciousness 
with which Constance met her meaning glance. 

“ She really what, Cora? ” 

Cora dropped her voice, flushed painfully, and sat 
down by Constance. 

“ I think Maude is attracted by him — ” 

Maude ! Why, you forget — Constance blushed. 

“No, I don’t forget anything. It is you who are 
too ignorant, or innocent, or good-principled for 
this charming world. What do you suppose Maude 
is suing for a divorce for ? ” 

“A divorce, Cora?” 

“Don’t you know it? ” 

“ I didn’t hear anything about it. How can she 


182 


DIVORCE. 


do it ? ” Cora laughed bitterly, her eyes flashed 
with scorn. 

“ Do it ? why easily enough. Tom Whiting has 
gone to the bad, utterly ; and she knew he would 
wdien she virtually turned him out of her house. 
Do you remember what I told you then ? that it 
was only the beginning of sin and misery. See how 
she is situated to-day ! in love with one man, and 
trying to get a divorce from another ! ” 

“Oh, Cora, you must be mistaken!” 

“ I hope I am, but I know I’m not.” 
j “ But you say you think that Mr. Mar chant likes 
you.” 

“I think twenty things a day! I think that he 
likes me ; then again, I feel that it is Maude who 
attracts him. I am sure that she likes him. Oh, 
Constance, don’t shake your head and look so 
shocked ; .1 know when a woman is doing her best 
to win a man’s admiration ; I have seen too much 
of it ; I end up every night by telling myself that 
Mr. Marchant is insulting both of us ; that he des- 
pises Maude, and grades me with her. Ma told me 
it w^ould be so. That men would classify the women 
of our family as being alike morally, and I often 
wonder if Daisy’s admirers are only seeing how far 
they can go with her.” 


DIVORCE. 


183 


Cora walked up and down tlie room, crying bit- 
terly, and Constance sat and watched her in silent 
sympathy. 

“It seems so hard, Constance; I am twenty-six; 
I might have married several times, and I tried to 
act from principle, and made up my mind that I 
would not marry, unless I felt that I could be true 
to my husband, and now, when I meet a man whom 
I like, in spite of myself, I am mortified and humil- 
iated by the circumstances surrounding me. I came 
here this summer for Maude’s sake. Ma did not 
want me to do it. She prophesied the whole thing. 
She told me that people gave way to their passions 
and dignified them with moral titles. Maude couldn’t 
put up with Tom’s lack of intellectual equality, and 
went on with a quantity of patent jargon about afiin- 
ities and soul-companionship, and aesthetic tastes, 
and to-day she has just as common-place vanities 
and desires as I have.” 

“And you are jealous of her? ” 

“Yes, I am ; and indignant at her conduct as a 
woman, and as a mother. She failed totally as a 
wife. Another thing, Constance ; I am almost posi- 
tive that your husband has advised her to get a 
divorce; she never told me so.” 

“ You are mistaken.” 


184 


DIVOECE. 


“I hope I am. Well, I am going to pack my 
trunks and join ma in Newport. Defend me from 
r women who have no idea of self-sacrifice, and are 
always moaning over their magnificent and unap- 
preciated abilities. Don’t tell me that young girls 
are dangerous in society; their foolish fiirtations 
hurt no one but themselves. The women who do 
the mischief are those like Maude, superficially 
sympathetic, vain as peacocks, and morally rotten. 
Take my advice, Constance, and keep Gilbert away 
from her. Don’t set about it ^ in your straightfor- 
ward, honest way, or they’ll laugh at you ; but bor- 
row some of Maude’s French finesse. What a sight 
I am ! I despise myself for thinking of Mr. Mar- 
chant, and yet I can’t stop doing it.” 

She stood up to look at herself in the glass and 
pull out her crimps. Constance put her arm around 
her waist. 

“ Cora, your jealousy is running away with your 
good common sense. You know you don’t mean 
what you have been saying — not a word of it. You 
wouldn’t allow another to speak so of Maude, and 
Gilbert, you know, belongs to me. I can answer 
for him. I have a better plan. Instead of going to 
Newport, come and spend a week here with me.” 

Cora turned and hugged Constance. 


DIYOKCE. 


185 


“You angel! 'WTiat an inspiration! How kind 
of you ! ” 

“ Come to-morrow and see what will happen.” 

“Constance, you think that he likes me.” Her 
voice shook. 

“I think we can give him an opportunity to 
speak, if he wishes to do it.” 

“Delightful. I’ll come quietly after breakfast. 
They’ll think it an old invitation. I’ll bring my 
prettiest dresses, and I’ll be real good. Con., dar- 
ling, I’ll be as kind to Maude as possible this even- 
ing, and then — ” 

She cried passionately for some minutes. 

Constance kissed her gently. 

“And then, if he means nothing, if it is all a mis- 
take, Cora, you will try and forget him. It would 
never do to make yourself unhappy about a person 
who did not care for you.” 

“ I know that.” 


XII. 


The next morning Cora arrived on foot and alone. 
“ My trunk will be sent over this afternoon, Con- 
stance, I left no invitations for anybody, so now 
we’ll see how your plan works.” 

Constance had books and work on the shady 
piazza, and the two rocked and chatted and read to 
each other until dinner time. Cora glanced nerv- 
ously at every pedestrian and group that passed the 
house, but they remained undisturbed by visitors. 
Her disappointment was so palpable, that Constance 
sent for the light wagon, and, taking the children 
with them, they started on a long drive. Cora now 
brightened, the little ones always amused them with 
their prattle, they met friends with idle gossip to 
spread, and returned home refreshed by the break 
in the monotony of their reflections. 

At the usual hour Gilbert came up the lawn with 

186 


DIVORCE. 


18T 


his quick, swinging step and general air of content, 
and bowed low to the little group. 

He tossed the children in the air, shook hands 
with Cora, and, having kissed Constance, he stood 
chatting for some minutes with his arm around her 
waist. 

Cora’s eyes made Constance quite uneasy. Some- 
times she did not feel as happy as she knew she 
should when Gilbert publicly caressed her, and yet 
she would not wound him by avoiding his touch, so 
she put her hand on his, and listened to, some com- 
ical account of his adventures in the city clu ring 
the previous night ; his efforts to hunt up friends, 
aud the failures and obstacles he met and overcame. 

Gilbert stayed at home that evening. His con- 
stitution did not require a long walk in the direc- 
tion of the hotels. _ He pulled out music, opened 
the piano, collected lamps and brought the two 
ladies in from the piazza — Constance to play for 
him, Cora to sing with him. They had a charming, 
old-fashioned evening. When it was over, Gilbert 
complimented Cora on her voice, which was in per- 
fect order, and held his wife’s little hands in his for 
some time, saying that they must be tired. Con- 
stance was too happy to feel tired. She was, in 
fact, nervous with the excess of her emotions. 


188 


DIVORCE. 


When later she stood before the glass taking down 
her hair, she wondered at her own appearance. 
Her cheeks were pink, her eyes shone luminous with 
inner light, she felt like going out in the pure air 
under the stars, and there lifting up her soul to the 
God who had given her her life, her wonderful, 
undeserved blessings, her peace. 

She became conscious that Gilbert was watching 
her from the open window, where he sat smoking. 

“Why do you sigh, Constance?” She turned, 
and their eyes met. 

“Did I? It was with happiness, then.” 

He threw away the cigar, and held out his arms 
to her. He kissed her for some time without speak- 
ing, struck by the beauty and expression of her 
features, although so familiar with them, and won- 
dering mentally at the cause of her strange excite- 
ment. 

“ Constance, are you very sleepy? ” 

“ Not at all. The moonlight is so lovely. I should 
like to go out.” 

“ The dew is too heavy; you would get cold. By 
the way, how long is Cora going to be here ? ” 

“ A week, at least.” She flushed, and moved un- 
easily under his sudden glance of mingled surprise 
and annoyance. 


DIVORCE. 


189 


‘‘A week! but why? She shouldn’t leave her 
sister — ” 

“ It is an experiment, Gilbert,” Constance whis- 
pered, putting her arms around his neck. ‘‘We 
want to see if Mr. Marchant really cares enough 
about her to come here to see her.” 

“ Why, Dot 1 when did you take to match-making ? 
I am surprised at you ! ” He looked searchingly 
down in her face. 

“ So am I, Gilbert ; I don’t understand myself ; 
but there is no harm in what I have done — ” 

“ No harm, certainly ; but Marchant isn’t thinking 
of Cora — ” He hesitated, looked confused, and 
saw that Constance was eagerly watching him, while 
the blood was mounting to her cheeks in a burning 
flush. “ Marchant is running after Daisy,” he said 
awkwardly. 

“ Daisy! ” 

She tried to add’, “are you sure? ” but the words 
died away on her lips. Cora’s doubts flashed 
through her brain. Why was Gilbert so embar- 
rassed? Should she speak of the girl’s fears and 
wretchedness ? Impossible ! She could not frame 
the words with her tongue ; the effort choked her 
She suddenly hid her face on her husband’s breast, 


190 


DIVORCE. 


and clung to liim witli passionate strength, tears 
welled in her eyes. 

Gilbert’s clasp tightened; he bent and kissed 
her eyes, her lips, her hair, murmuring soothing 
words. 

“WJiy, darling, a moment ago you were sighing 
with happiness.” 

“ I am happy, Gilbert ; but others, others are so 
wretched.” 

“They have themselves to blame for it, love. 
You can’t make them over again; you are not 
responsible for the wrongs that you do not cause. 
Come, forget all this ; Cora is able to fight her own 
battles, and she is perfectly welcome here if it 
pleases her to stay with you. Still, the sooner — 
well, we’ll let that drop until another time ; I want 
to talk of our own affairs. Dot, what day can you 
come up to the city with me? Davis is getting 
some papers ready for you to sign. I have sold the 
lots to the man I told you about. We’ll get a thou- 
sand apiece for them.” 

“A thousand! Didn’t pa give fifteen hundred for 
them?” 

“Yes, he did ; but they wont bring that now ; and 
there is no prospect of any advance in real estate. 
I can make the difference between five thousand and 


DIVORCE. . 


191 


seventj-five hundred in no time by investing the 
money.” 

“Hov do you mean, ‘five thousand?’ The four 
lots are down on the list marked six thousand, and 
you are to get four for them, you say.” 

Gilbert laughed out. 

“ "What a clear little business head you have, after 
all ! There are twenty -five lots in the piece of prop- 
erty, and the extra lot was given to you, at John’s 
suggestion, in return for your proposition about 
dividing the estate. So we have five lots, you see, 
worth five thousand dollars.” 

“ That will be thirty thousand,” said Constance, 
vaguely, as if making a mental calculation. 

“ How do you mean?” was the quick question. 

“Why, we got twenty-five thousand for the 
house — ” 

“Oh, yes, I see; you are adding up what the 
property brings.” 

“ It seems to me a large sum.” 

He laughed curiously at her. 

“ Well, you shall have it all back in silver bars 
one of these days.’’ 

He spoke impatiently. Constance lay quite still 
for some moments, her eyes fixed dreamily on his 
face ; then she asked him what day would be con- 


192 


DIYOECE. 


venient for liim, and that iDeing settled, she began 
to talk about the children. 

The next day was spent by her and Cora in the 
same quiet fashion. Gilbert had some yisitors in 
the evening — noisy men, who smoked hard and 
remained late, and took their host off with them. 
Constance was sleeping when he returned. She 
looked very fair and pretty in the moonlight that 
flooded the room, and he bent to kiss her. She 
; started, opened her eyes, and then laughed merrily. 

“ What do ^you suppose I was dreaming about, 
Gilbert? Silver bars. I thought the room was 
piled with them, and I could see them shining all 
around me.” 

“ It was the moonlight in your eyes, child. The 
room is too light.” He began to darken it as he 
talked. “ I have a few letters to write, so I’ll go 
down to the dining-room. I wont be very long.” 

“ But you will find everything read}^ there at my 
little table, Gilbert, and I can watch you while you 
Avrite.” 

So he sat down before her pretty inkstand and 
belongings, and she fell asleep listening to the 
monotonous scratching of his pen. 

Cora’s anxiety was pitiable Avhen the third morn- 
ing had passed and brought no visitors. 


DIVORCE. 


193 


Constance felt the utter nselessness of any plan 
that she could propose, with the object of finding 
distraction and pleasure. She was contemplating 
the necessity of some such change, when Cora, who 
was walking up and down the piazza, called her 
attention to three figures coming along the road 
from the direction of Mrs. AVhiting’s house. 

“ Maude • and Daisy, don’t you see ? and Mr. 
Sedley. I wonder — ” 

But Mr. Marchant did not appear in the distance. 
The visitors came up the lawn. Mr. Sedley struck 
an attitude against a post, and the ladies arranged 
their diaphanous flounces and trains in two of the 
wide, rustic chairs. 

Cora grew talkative, Constance very quiet. Every 
topic usually discussed received proper attention ; 
then there was a general movement. Mrs. Whiting 
looked back as she went - down the path, she red- 
dened slightly. 

Oh, Cora, Mr. Marchant left his regards and 
farewells for you with me. He hadn’t time to call. 
Some stupid friend is very ill at Cape May and sent 
for him. He doesn’t expect to get here again this 
season. Bye bye, dear.” 

Cora nodded to her, turned and stood erect^ 
until the little group had reached a bend in the 


194 


DIVOKCE. 


road that would take them out of sight. At this 
point Mrs. Whiting stopped and looked back. Cora 
waved her handkerchief, and then the three figures 
disappeared. 

Constance rose hastily and threw her arms around 
Cora. The girl was trembling from head to foot ; 
her hands were like ice. 

‘‘ That is my sister, Constance — my sister — ” 

She gasped for breath. 

“Sit down, dear; let me get you some wine; you 
are shivering. Come up and lie down in my room.” 

“No, no; I want to walk! I shall go crazy if I 
can’t move about ! My brain feels on fire. I can’t 
cry. Well, Maude can go to the devil now as fast 
as she pleases. I’ll never do anything to prevent 
her. You see now, what she is. I’ll start for New- 
port as soon as I can get my things from her house. 
You better leave her too, Constance. Find some 
excuse and get away from her neighborhood. She’ll 
blight the happiness of every creature that tries to 
befriend her.” 

Having walked and talked till her passion cooled, 
Cora lay down and slept for some hours. Constance 
felt nervous and depressed. She hoped to overcome 
the effects on her of this outbreak by going on the 
lawn with the children, and trying to become thor- 


DIVORCE. 


195 


ouglilj absorbed in wreaths of pink clover and but- 
tercups, but in vain. She strung and tied the blos- 
soms as Bertie wanted them, and decorated Jessie 
with garlands and bouquets to the child’s delight- 
She laughed and sang with them, and followed their 
graceful motioMs as they bent to gather the flowers 
with loving admiration in her eyes. She realized 
her blessings, and was quite conscious of how thank- 
ful and happy she should be, how patient and tender 
with others, and still could not shake off a heavy, 
sad sense of coming trouble. Was it entirely the 
result of physical causes ? of repressed mental emo- 
tions reacting on her small stock of strength ? It 
was a relief to believe in this explanation of her 
unusual frame of mind ; but she shrank from the 
thought of meeting Gilbert’s keen eyes and ques- 
tions. Why ? 

Cora had apparently recovered Tier spirits when 
she came down-stairs ; she certainly had regained 
her usual appearance. She laughed and chatted 
with Gilbert when he arrived, and seemed to • dis- 
tract his attention from Constance, whose white face 
and set features were perplexing Cora, and stirring 
Avithin her a sensation something like remorse. 
Had she hurt Constance by her passionate 
Avords, her thoughtlessly sage advice? Was it pos- 


i96 


DIVOECE. 


sible that Constance was suffering from jealousy, or 
sudden doubts of Gilbert’s conduct ? 

She could not decide. Constance was gifted with 
the fine faculty of self-control; nothing in her 
words or actions indicated that anything unusual 
had occupied her thoughts that day. Gilbert always 
had a budget of city news, and it lasted until dusk 
when the three were on the cool piazza enjoying 
the fresh breeze. 

' “ By the way, I ran against Marchant this morn- 

ing, on Wall street,” he said, carelessly, with an 
amused laugh. “ Miss Daisy gave him the mitten, 
I fancy, from his crestfallen looks. I guess Sedley 
is the favorite at present.” 

Cora moved back her chair. Constance did not 
stir. 

“ I told Marchant not to give it up, but to come 
back here in a month and try again; that Miss 
Daisy hasn’t made up her mind, and distance lends 
-enchantment, and so forth. Oh, I was very consol- 
ing, indeed. Wasn’t I right. Miss Cora? Your 
cousin is a regular coquette, as she ought to be.” 

“ Daisy doesn’t take me into her confidence,” said 
Cora, laughing. ‘‘ She has coquetted with boys and 
men since she was six years old. Perhaps she’ll end 
up with the crooked stick.” 


DIVORCE. 


197 


‘‘ Not if Marcliant comes back and wins. He’s the 
best fellow of the crowd.” 

“ Will he come ?” Cora asked in a low voice. 

“I shouldn’t wonder if he did! I used all my 
powers of eloquence and argument, and cited inci- 
dents of an encouraging character to cheer him up. 
He’ll come ; he only needed urging.” 

Constance was in the nursery when Cora came 
cautiously into the room from the wide hall, and 
sat down near Jessie’s crib. 

“ Con., dear, I am so sorry for what I said this 
morning ; you wont mention it to anybody — ” 

‘‘ Oh, no ; I thought you were mistaken — ” 

“Not even to Mr. Travers, Constance — ” 

“ Why Cora — I really surprised your confidence. 
Gilbert would have a strange opinion of me if I 
should repeat that to him.” 

“ I don’t mind your knowing about my disap- 
pointment, Con. You understand me — you are dif- 
ferent from others, you don’t ‘sneer at women. Oh, 
how thankful I felt that he didn’t mention Mr. 
Marcliant while it was daylight! You must have 
heard me blush, that time.” 

“ I was surprised at your self-control. You spoke 
so coolly.” 

“Did I? I am so glad! Well, I exhausted my 


198 


DIVOECE. 


temper this morning. Constance, forget all I said, 
Vlear; and I will be very good. I’ll go back to 
Maude when the week is np, and "try to behave my- 
self in future. Not that I believe for one moment 
that Mr. Marchant is in love with Daisy — ” 

“ Cora !” 

“No, I know better than that — but, I am willing 
to think that Maude has come to her senses. She 
shall have the benefit of the doubt.” 

“But if Mr. Marchant comes back?” 

“If he does, there will be trouble, but he won’t ! 
There, let me kiss the babies. How sweet and pure 
they look 1 Oh, dear ! It is difficult to believe that 
some of us ever were innocent little children, lying 
in a good mother’s arms. Constance, I hope your 
children are blessings for you ; not — not curses — ” 
“ Oh, Cora, don’t talk so wildly, dear.” 

“You should see my poor mother sometimes 
when she is thinking of Maude ! Oh, I tell you, 
Constance, people should think of consequences — ” 
“You are good and thoughtful, dear, to stay so 
faithfully with Maude and the children. Perhaps 
things will turn out better than you hope for. At 
any rate, Cora, let us try and do the best we can for 
her.” 

“ I can tell you this, Constance,” said Cora, tri- 


DIVORCE. 


199 




fling vath Jessie’s little fingers. “I do a great 

# 

many things that I don’t like simply for your 
sake — ” 

“For mine, Cora!” Constance flushed. 

“ I mean, to keep your respect. I often isay^to 
myself. ‘ What would Constance think of me ?’ 
Now, I’m going.” 

Constance found Gilbert waiting for her. His 
searching glance read her face suspiciously, she 
thought. “ I am afraid Cora is too much for you. 
Dot. You look about exhausted.” 

“ I feel quite well now,” she said, meeting his 
eyes frankly. 

“The truth is that your rest is too much of a 
monotonous, stupid time. You’ll have to go out 
more with me. I’ll have my vacation next week, 
and we’ll g^t up some amusements here. Why you 
frightened me this afternoon, when I saw your face, 
and then I remembered that you were really turn- 
ing nun on my hands.” 


* 


■i 


XIII. 


Gilbert would liave liis way and the monotony 
was completely broken and peace destroyed. Con- 
stance could not persuade him that she was happier 
when alone with him and the children, than when 
among strangers. He could not understand such 
contentment. From his vantage ground of strength 
he Avould not believe that it could tire Constance to 
sit still or drive about and be entertained. He de- 
clared that she grew animated and looked better 
when taking part in the general amusements. He 
would not leave her at home, his “ I won’t go unless 
you go, too,” was final. Constance put on the 
heavy dresses that tired her and tried to seem in- 
terested and amused when exhausted by the strain 
on her physical strength. 

She began to look forward with anxious anticipa- 
tion to their return to the city. Once there, this 
intolerable crowd, this artificial existence, would be 
200 


DIVORCE. 


201 


left behind and forgotten. But September was 
nearly over and the house was not ready, and could 
not be until November. 

She was standing at one of the side windows one 
morning watching Gilbert swinging the children in 
a hammock, when she saw him glance toward the 
road, rise suddenly and go toward the gate. He 
did not come back immediately,, and the nurse took 
his place at the hammock. Constance was busy at 
the time looking over warmer clothing for the 
family, and after a few minutes she forgot the cir- 
cumstance. 

Gilbert had seen Cora coming toward the gate 
and had intercepted her, joining her outside and 
speaking rapidly, “ What are you strolling about at 
this hour for?” 

I want to see Constance.” 

Cora’s straight features looked like marble, set 
and colorless. She spoke decidedly, meeting Gil- 
bert’s keen eyes without changing a muscle, her 
voice was hard and threatening. 

“ For what ?” he asked quietly. 

“ To see if she can do anything for us.” 

He glanced toward the house, and then down the 
road. Let me talk to you first,” he said, offering 


202 


DIVORCE. 


her his arm, and speaking with assumed indiffer- 
ence. Cora shook her head. 

“ No, I’m determined to open your wife’s eyes to 
this whole business.” 

“ To what business ?” 

“Do you think I’m a fool, Mr. Travers?’^ 

Gilbert’s eyes flashed, then he controlled himself. 

“ You certainly will be one if you go to Con- 
stance in the humor you are in now. Be kind 
enough to take my arm and listen to me.” Cora 
hesitated, Gilbert drew her hand in his arm with a 
force that 'surprised her, and started down the road 
as he spoke : 

“Do you want to destroy your^sister ! You know 
very well that this thing is all nonsense, utter non- 
sense ! But, we must act like sensible people and 
prevent any harm whatever coming from it. It will 
fall flat if you will let me manage my own business. 
It is my own business, isn’t it ?” 

“Yes, but it involves so many! Oh, I never im- 
agined such disgrace as this coming to us 1” Her 
lips quivered, Gilbert spoke gently, watching the 
effect of his words upon her face. 

“Miss Cora, I foresaw the whole thing, of course, 
I didn’t know exactly what person Whiting would 
select to vent his spite upon, I wish to God, for my 


DIYORCE. 


203 


wife’s sake, tkat lie had named Sedley, or any one 
of tke unmarried men who kave been visiting at tke 
kouse. However, ke kas ckosen to pay me np for 
my friendskip for kis wife, and ke doesn’t care 
wkom ke knrts so long as ke kas kis mean revenge. 
Yon know very well, tkat ke kasn’t tke sligktest 
foundation for kis ckarge, kis trumpery evidence is 
servant’s gossip, ke knows ke can make notking out 
of it, but ke wants to pull down as many as ke can 
in kis own fall. Tke damned scoundrel ! If ke can 
succeed in blackening kis wife’s ckaracter and mak- 
ing my wife miserable ke will be kappy. Now, my 
wkole’ object is to outwit kim. If Constance ap- 
pears in tke case as your sister’s friend, wky tke 
wkole tking is exploded. But you must let me 
manage Constance. If you go in and worry ker 
witk your imaginary fears, you will excite wrong 
suspicions in ker mind, or worry ker to suck an ex- 
tent tkat ske will look confused before tke lawyers, 
and convey tke impression tkat tkere is sometking 
to be concealed. Our safety and your sister’s com- 
plete vindication, lie in tke fact tkat Constance 
knows tkat tkere is notking wrong between us, and 
tkat will prove for itself by ker perfect faitk in me, 
and ker unconsciousness of tke possibility of Wkit- 
ing’s ckarge. I can take care of my wife, if you will 


204 


DIYORCE, 


leave lier to me, but you and Mrs. Whiting must 
avoid this subject with her until I have told her how 
the case stands. It is terrible enough, as it is, God 
knows! and it will come very hard on her, just at 
present — .” He ground his teeth, breathing hard. 

‘'You must wish now that you had dropped our 
acquaintance some time ago,” said Cora, laughing 
bitterly. “It doesn’t do for respectable married 
people to consort with shaky, separated ones. You 
shouldn’t have brought your wife here this summer.” 
She looked straight in his eyes. 

“I know that now.” 

“ She hasn’t an idea in common with Maude, not 
one ! We have been living like fools here, just 
courting the chciracter that Mr. Whiting wants to 
fix upon us.” 

“Oh, nonsense! You’re flying away with the 
subject. We have been living just as we should 
live ; simply having a pleasant time and consulting 
our own tastes instead of Mr. Whiting’s. If your 
sister hadn’t sued for a divorce, he never would 
have dreamed of doing it, it is a cross-suit of mere 
spite, and we’ll prove it to be such. And instead of 
exciting yourself and fretting your sister, just for- 
get the thing. Leave it in the hands of her lawyers, 
I see thepi every few days. We are getting every- 


DIVOECE. 


205 


thing perfectly arranged. You’ll have simply to 
come before the lawyers and referee and state what 
you know, and I am sure that will hurt nobody. 
Constance will do the same, I’ll answer for her ; 
your sister will win her case and that will end the 
matter.” 

“ I’m sure I hope so ! I really think Mr. Travers 
that we are greatly indebted to you for being such 
a staunch friend. I was inclined to blame you very 
much — ” 

‘^What, for coming to the house?” 

‘‘ For coming here at all. You should think of 
your v/ife before you think of your friends. I don’t 
want to hurt you, but, on the whole, I think 3^ou 
have shown Maude too much attention and defer- 
ence.” 

What would you have had me do under the cir- 
cumstances. Desert a lady whom I had every 
cause to respect, simply because she took a decided 
course and separated from a man whom she des- 
pised? That would have been cowardly. No, I 
told Constance from the first, that so long as Mrs. 
Whiting was true to herself, we would uphold her 
in every way.” 

“ I suppose it is very hard to pursue a middle 
course, Mr. Travers. I am speaking very plainly 


206 


DIYOKCE. 


now. I don’t think that yonr intended kindness 
has done mj sister any good, the intimacy has 
grown too close, and I am afraid that yonr wife will 
be the real sufferer from all this misery. The inno- 
cent, thoughtful people generally get the worst of 
everything. Maude doesn’t feel this as I do.” 

Gilbert laughed curiously. 

“ She knows there is no cause for real alarm, be- 
sides, she is trying to gain a point and these are side 
issues.” 

“You understand her thoroughly, Mr. Travers, 
thoroughly. I trust that when she has gained her 
point you will consult your wife’s interest first 
for the future, and let Maude manage her own 
affairs. She is quite competent, I assure you to 
look out for herself.” 

“ Well, Miss Cora, I know you are actuated by 
sincere motives in speaking as you do to me. Per- 
haps, I have been careless, and thoughtless, — I can 
only urge that my intentions were perfectly correct, 
and, I am inclined to think that no great harm has 
been done. Your sister does not blame me in any 
way, and if Constance acquits me, I shall certainly 
not sit down to fret over the result of well meant 
actions.” 

Cora now turned to go back to lier sister’s house. 


DIVORCE. 


207 


Gilbert offered her his hand. She looked at him 
without taking it. Gilbert did not withdraw it. 

Don’t you call me a friend ?” he asked with as- 
sumed gaiety. 

‘‘ On my honor, Mr. Travers, I don’t know how to 
place you. Positively, you perplex me ! You love 
your wife, you are my sister’s staunch friend, and it 
looks to me now as if one woman had to be sacri- 
ficed to the other. I can not reconcile your con- 
duct as being honest to both women. You must 
have a remarkable nature, if without being aware of 
the fact, you can wrong your wife.” 

I never wronged my wife !” said Gilbert, draw- 
ing himself up to his full height and meeting Cora’s 
fearless eyes with a steady glance. “ I can feel 
compassion for a hundred women, and try to serve 
them in trouble with assistance or my advice, if they 
ask for it — but my wife ! Good God ! do you sup- 
pose I think of her in connection with them ?” the 
scorn and sneer were equal in voice and look. 

Cora flushed painfully, her eyes fell, she clasped 
her hands, breathing hard. Then she faced him, 
speaking forcibly ; “I see ! Oh, I wish Maude 
could have seen and heard you then! It would 
have been a revelation to her, a revelation ! You 
can feel as you do for your wife, you can recognize 


208 


DIYOECE. 


in lier tlie purity that you can not explain, and yet, 
you can leave her — yes, leave her, to flatter and 
fawn upon another woman — whom in your heart 
you despise — and lead her on to the very actions 
that are destroying her morally ; Oh, Mr. Travers, 
I — I fail to see that you have ever been my sister’s 
friend ! But you pander to her follies, and she flat- 
ters your vanity. She can do w^hat no power can 
make your wife do ! She can sit up and tell you 
how handsome you are ! how beautifully you sing! 
how well you do this, that, and the other ! and you 
think she appreciates you more than the honest 
girl who loves you so devotedly that she can not 
put her thoughts into words ! And you and Maude 
are to go on with this sham friendship, and Con- 
stance is to do the suffering 1 Oh what selfish 
beings men are 1 Defend me from the whole sex !” 

“I suppose you feel better now,” said Gilbert, 
with deliberation. “You have got off some of what 
the Western people call ‘ the frozen truth,’ and you 
suffer so keenly yourself for your sister’s follies that 
I have only the greatest admiration for your candor 
toward me. I like it. I may profit by it. You 
will stand by your sister until this affair is over ?” 

“ I will, yes ; but, it is more for your wife’s sake. 


DIVORCE. 


209 


and my own than for Mande’s. I have no respect 
left for her — ” 

“Nor for me — I suppose,” he said with some bit- 
terness. 

“ I should like to meet a man whom I could re- 
spect,” was the answer as she turned away, walk- 
ing rapidly. Gilbert paused a few seconds, then 
went toward the hotels. 

Dinner was ready and Constance was waiting for 
him on the porch when he returned. He had a 
bundle of New York papers in his hand and he ap- 
peared to be absorbed in an article that he was 
reading as he came slowly up the lawn. A quick 
glance at his wife’s face assured him that Cora had 
not been there that morning, and he put away the 
papers, brea’thing freely, and prepared to enjoy his 
dinner. Later, he drove out with his family, and 
coming back they met a gay party from Mrs. Whit- 
ing’s, just setting out. Mrs. Whiting invited Con- 
stance to join them after leaving the children 
at home, and Gilbert laughingly agreed to meet 
them at the place she named. 

“ Gilbert, I am really too tired to go,” Constance 
said when near home. “ They stay out so late, you 
know — ” 


210 


DIVORCE. 


“ Well then, we won’t go,” he spoke with indiffer- 
ence. 

Why you can go, Gilbert. I’ll lie down and rest 
as soon as the children are asleep.” 

He did not answer her, and she went into the 
house without noticing what he said to the stable- 
boy. But he lingered at the supper-table, and fol- 
lowed her into the parlor where she sat working, the 
chilly evenings now keeping her indoors. He sat 
down. 

“ I thought you were going out, Gilbert,” but her 
eyes shone. 

“ No, I guess not. I’ll spend the evening with 
you, if you will let me.” 

She laughed, but she was intensely surprised at 
his conduct. He walked up and down the room, 
opened and shut books, and finally threw himself 
on the sofa. Constance looked around, he was 
watching her with a curious expression of per- 
plexity in his features. 

“ Why did you stay home, Gilbert ? You would 
have enjoyed the long ride — ” 

' “ Because I preferred to stay at home.” 

“ Would you like to sing ?” 

No, I don’t feel like singing to-night.” 

His voice did not invite questions, and Constance 


DIVORCE. 


211 


tried to sew at her ease, but his silent scrutiny was 
embarrassing, and she was conscious that he was 
troubled about something. She put aside the work, 
stood up and went to him, and he moved so that 
she could sit on the sofa facing him. Then he put 
his arm around her waist and drew her close to him, 
without speaking. She put her hand on his hair 
caressingly. 

“ Can Ido anything for you, Gilbert ?” 

“Yes, a great deal if you are willing.” 

She started at the intense earnestness of his tone. 
“If I am willing — Gilbert, what could you ask that 
I vv^ouldnT do willingly for you ?” 

She put her hands in his, and looked straight in 
his eyes, but her lips quivered, there was reproach 
in her low, clear voice. Gilbert colored, his eyes 
fell before hers. 

“ This is out of the ordinary ways, Constance. I 
feel so angry with myself, so ashamed of the whole 
business— ” 

“But what have you done to be ashamed of — ?” 

“Why, nothing ! I have been foolish, of course. 
It was foolish to come here this summer ! I should 
have taken your advice and gone elsewhere. Still, 
we can’t be infallible — ” 

“ But what has happened ? — what do you want 


212 


DIVORCE. 


me to do? Is it money, Gilbert? Do you need 
more — ” 

He stood up and walked impatiently to and fro. 

“ Oil, no ! it isn’t money ! It is all about this 
damned divorce case of Mrs. Whiting’s. I wish to 
God I had never seen the woman !” 

“ So do I !” cried Constance impulsively ; then 
she looked up, stretching out her hands. “But 
Gilbert, what has that to do with us ?” 

“Why it shouldn’t have anything to do with us, 
my darling. But, Whiting, like a scoundrel, has 
chosen to bring an action against his wife — a cross 
suit — ” 

“Well, I don’t know what that is.” 

Gilbert dropped her hands and turned away. Her 
eyes were like stars. She rose suddenly and stood 
beside him. “ Tell me what you mean ! What am 
I to do for you ! How does it affect us ? You said 
once that their separation would not affect us in 
any way — ” her voice trembled. 

“ And it does not ! it shall not!” He looked fix- 
edly at her, his eyes filling with tears, then he put 
his arms around her and held her for ^ome minutes 
trying to conquer his emotion, “ I thought I 
could tell you about it quietly, — but it is such an 


DIVORCE. 


213 


outrage on us — I lose all self-control wlien I tliink 
of it—” 

“ Gilbert, don’t excite yourself so ! If we have 
done nothing wrong, why do you worry ? Tell me 
what troubles you, or would you rather that I did 
not know ?” 

“Yes, I would give anything in the world to avoid 
having to tell you — but you will have to know all 
about it — ” She put her cool hands on his flushed 
cheeks. 

“ Then come and sit down and talk to me quietly ; 
it frightens me, Gilbert, to see you so excited.” 

Her quiet voice and manner were reassuring. 
She sat beside him, resting her head on his 
shoulder, while he explained the nature of a cross- 
action for divorce. Her eyes were downcast, and 
she flushed painfully, while he hesitated and grew 
confused in the effort to do it delicately, and in as 
few words as possible. When he had finished he 
saw that she did not comprehend the magnitude of 
the affair, nor the drift of his remarks. 

“How very wicked of Mr. Whiting! Why, it is 
absurd of him to accuse his wife of anything wrong. 
How can he undertake to prove what never hap- 
pened?” 

“Why, he wants to revenge himself on several 


214 


DIVOP.CE. 


persons, that is all. He wont, prove anything, but 
he will Imrt onr feelings, and cause some scandal- 
ous things to be said. He detests me for remaining 
on terms of friendship with his wife, and I suppose 
he wants to get even with you for the way you used 
to accept his attentions.” 

“But why are we brought in, Gilbert? Surely 
Mrs. AVhiting can disprove lies without our help.” 

“ Then you don’t like the idea of appearing as a 
witness for her?” 

Constance did not speak. 

“You know the more friends she has the better 
she will be able to refute this scandal. Miss Cora 
and Miss Daisy, and several other ladies are going 
with her before the referee to give their evidence 
for her. It amounts to very little, simply to state 
how they have spent the summer, and to corrobor- 
ate each other as to the perfect propriety of Mrs. 
Whiting’s conduct.” 

“Then, does she need me?” 

“Tell me why you object to go?” 

“ I cannot.” 

She drew closer to him, trembling slightly, and 
taking his hand in hers. 

He spoke slowly, with a great effort : 

“ Constance, the truth is, I need you.” 


DIVORCE. 


215 


“You! why?” 

It was a mere whisper ; her eyes were raised to 
his ; her unconsciousness Avas encouraging, and yet 
overwhelming. 

“You are my good angel, Dot. Only for you I 
w'onder what would become of me ! Others haven’t 
your faith in me — Mr. "Whiting, for instance, has 
undertaken to prove that I am his successor in his 
wife’s affections.” 

She laughed incredulously. 

“ What nonsense, Gilbert. He wouldn’t dare 
make such a remark about you!” 

Her eyes flashed with scorn. » 

“But he has sworn to his belief in the fact.” 

“Then he has sworn to a lie! Can’t I go and 
say so i 

“Yes; you can testify for me, and for Mrs. M^hit- 
ing. But Dot, I am ashamed of having helped to 
cause this necessity by my folly, my imprudence—” 

“ Oh, Gilbert, don’t begin to blame yourself for 
what is past. You were only trying to be kind to 
her. Tell me what I am to do. Did you think I 
would not be willing to go before these men for 
your sake? I can tell them the truth, can’t I?” 

“Yes; that is all you will have to do, thank God. 
We may have been thoughtless ; but, at least. Dot, 


216 


DIVORCE. 


there is nothing worse than what you have seen and 
heard to accuse me of.” 

She put her arms around his neck. 

“Then don’t worry. See, I am quite cool. Let 
us talk it all over, Gilbert, dear ; it will do you good 
to say what you think to me.” 

He talked for hours, venting his opinion of the 
family, and it was Constance who became the self- 
possessed comforter and adviser. There is nothing 
so sublime as the courage of innocence. 

“We never should have known these people!” he 
said, decidedly. 

“ So pa always said, Gilbert, but poor ma thought 
she had done something very wonderful for us when 
she helped on the acquaintance. She was so at- 
tracted by appearances.” 

“Well, no one could have foreseen this result at 
that time. The Whitings seemed very happy to- 
gether ; that is, they got along as well as the major- 
ity of people do. It only shows what a curious 
problem married life is after all.” 

Constance was lying on the lounge, idly moving 
her rings on her fingers. She followed Gilbert’s 
motions, as he paced restlessly back and forth, with 
her clear, earnest gaze, which he sometimes met with 
the cool, searching glance that at times baffled her. 


Drv^OECE. 


917 


She felt very much exhausted by the struggle for 
composure, and now that he Tvas quite recovered 
from his unusual emotion, she was beginning to give 
way to the long strain on her nerves. 

“The truth is, Gilbert, Cora was right two years 
ago, when she said that her sister was only com- 
mencing what would cause sin and misery to others 
by separating from her husband. It was a wrong 
action ; it was immoral in its tendencies.” ^ 

“Well, if you are going back to causes, you might 
as well get to the root of the trouble, and argue 
that her marriage was a wrong action.” 

“So it was; she didn’t marry from love.” 

“Moralists, you know, insist that the slightest 
deviation from the right brings unlimited troubles 
upon us. I suppose it is so in important matters. 
Well, when this case is settled she may see an end \ 
to her difficulties. She can marry one of the com- - 
binations of soul and intellect that she fancies can 
be found among men. I haven’t met with the 
creature in my experience, of my own sex; but 
women have the faculty of ascribing the qualities , 
they admire to a man, and then bowing down and 
worshipping the happy, imaginary owner of them.” 

“Gilbert, are you joking now? I mean about 
Mrs. Whiting marrying again ?” 


218 


DIVORCE. 


“Joking! wliy, what do you suppose she is going 
to all the trouble and expense of getting a divorce 
for ? Of course she’ll marry again. She has a per- 
fect right to do so — a legal right.” 

“Do you really think she has the moral right to 
do it?” 

“Oh, Constance, I’m not prepared to go into such 
a discussion as that idea involves. The question 
of marriage after divorce on its moral grounds has 
to be settled by individuals for themselves. The 
arguments are strong on both sides. I don’t know 
how Mrs. Whiting manages her conscience. She is 
evidently tired of her present arrangement.” 

“And she took such a high position in separating 
from her husband. She was going to set an exam- 
ple of a woman being all-sufficient to herself, and 
to exact respect for the ideas she was preaching 
and practicing.” 

Gilbert laughed, as if intensely amused. 

“ She was going, in fact, to make human nature 
over again. What folly! Did she deceive you ?” . 

“I didn’t think she was really sincere; but I cer- 
tainly gave her credit for believing herself so. 
Now—” 

“Now you have lost all your respect for her, I 
suppose?” 


DIVOKCE. 


219 


“Tes, I have! Her experiments are too daring. 
Marriage is sacred.” 

“Come, come, Dot, don’t be too hard upon her. 
Eemember what Burns says: ‘We know not what’s 
resisted.’ You are too good a little woman to judge 
another woman harshly — ” 

“But you see, Gilbert, if Mrs. Whiting, with all 
her advantages, is to be excused and upheld, how 
are you going to blame the poor and ignorant for 
doing wrong, or think of punishing them ? If Mrs. 
Whiting’s code of morality is the right one, I can 
see no motive for taking marriage vows.” 

“Well, there are people who hold that they are 
unnecessary ; others take them with mental reserva- 
tions. If they turn to chains, why, divorces can be 
had for slight causes in other States, and people 
take advantage of the fact. It is too complicated a 
subject for me to discuss; it would be endless. A 
few people are born good, some are irredeemably 
bad, and the majority allow themselves to be 
moulded and governed by circumstances. Laws 
are not made for people like you. You have the 
unwritten laws in view always. You can’t legislate 
morality into people. Your inclinations lead you 
to do what is morally right, what your principles 
are you think you know, but you cannot tell how 


220 


. DIYOECE. 


strong tliej are until they are severely tested. Ton 
should resist similar temptations before yon attempt 
to decide what Mrs. Whiting ought or ought not 
to do.” 

His tone became sharp and severe. Constance 
was unable to answer him, so she lay quiet while he 
shut uj) the windows and fastened the many locks 
and bars. When he had finished he came back to 
the sofa. 

“Dot, you will have to make some allowance for 
me. I can’t forgive myself for subjecting you to 
this mortification. The more I think about it the 
worse I feel. If you think it best. I’ll keep you out 
of the case altogether.” 

“Oh, no, Gilbert, I’ll go with you.” 

“It wont do to look as thoroughly crushed as you 
do this minute.” 

“ Oh, I know that. I’ll try and forget the dis- 
grace of the thing, and remember that you, at least, 
have done no wrong. We are victims, Gilbert.” 

He carried her up-stairs, white and passive, and 
then set about restoring life to his image, but there 
are hurts that stimulants and kisses cannot reach. 
While he sat by her smoothing her hair from her 
restless head, rubbing her cold hands, and trying 
to soothe her to sleep with loving words, he though 


DIVORCE. 


221 


of Cora's prophecy, and groaned aloud. Constance 
turned and put her arms around his neck. 

“ Don’t fret, love, I feel almost well. I think I’ll 
go and see Mrs. Whiting to-morrow.” 


XIY. 


The next day was Sunday. Gilbert devoted him- 
self to the work of restoring his wife’s peace of 
mind. He would not let her exert herself in any 
way. He reasoned with her in regard to her health 
and the danger of allowing herself to brood over a 
condition of affairs which she had not been respon- 
sible for in the least degree. He found a charming 
book and read to her, and by afternoon was re- 
warded for his efforts by seeing her looking natural 
and talking cheerfully over their own concerns. 

In the evening it was Constance who proposed 
the visit to Mrs. Whiting, and Gilbert agreed that it 
was the wisest and very kindest thing they could 
do. Mrs. Whiting was surrounded by sympathis- 
ing friends, and too much absorbed in herself to 
notice much or feel for the woman who was so 
thoughtful for her. 

Cora appreciated the whole situation, 

222 


DIVOECE. 


223 


“ You are very good, Constance, to come at once,” 
she said, taking Constance aside for a little private 
conversation. “ I gave you a week to recover from 
the shock of the thing, and another to make up 
your mind not to have any more to do with us. 
This is a good chance for you to assert yourself and 
refuse to countenance Maude in her line of action. 
Of course, I mean when this case is decided.” 

Constance seemed surprised. 

“ She will need friends then, Cora, as well as now, 
I think.” 

“ Of course you are going to appear for her, I can 
see that by your manner. That is all right and well 
enough. I suppose Mr. Travers explained every- 
thing fully ; what I mean is, that if she receives at- 
tention with the idea of marrying again, I for one, 
will not uphold her. Honestly, Constance, from- 
what you have seen and heard for years, do you 
think that the legal right to marry again will give 
her a moral one ?” 

“ No, I do not.” 

Cora kissed her warmly. ‘‘How are you going to 
get ready for this ordeal ? Fancy facing a solemn 
referee, several lawyers all armed with leading ques- 
tions, and Tom. Whiting looking on with his mean 
little eyes and sneering grin. I’ve made up my 


224 


DIVORCE. 


mind not to tliink of it until I find myself before tlie 
■crowd. It is the only way to do, otherwise we shall 
all look like ghosts and forlorn ones at that. It is 
fortunate that we can answer any and every ques- 
tion, but what a vindictive creature Tom. Whiting 
proves to be! He wanted a jury trial so as to have 
-everything made as public and disgraceful as pos-' 
:sible. It has taken no end of money and influence 
to make him consent to this w^ay of settling every- 
thing. Oh, I think it is shocking in Maude to sub- 
ject us to this trial! It does seem to me that her 
moral nature is changing, or else it was never strong 
and the separation from her husband was like un- 
dermining the foundation, it is all going to pieces. 
Well, Constance, if she puts a climax on all this by 
marrying Mr. Marchant, she can say good-bye to 
me ! I am done with her ! You look as much con- 
cerned as if you were her sister. Take care of 
yourself, Constance. Let the whole thing vanish 
until w^e meet at the lawyer’s office. I am 
thoroughly disgusted with this side of life. I often 
think now of the old nursery rhyme, Tor Satan 
finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.’ The 
people who have to exert themselves to earn their 
daily bread are saved a great deal of temptation and 
trouble. I envy them !” 


DIVOECE. 


225 


Gilbert and Constance walked homeward very 
slowly, lie found a great deal to say about Mrs. 
Whiting’s needs and the skill of the lawyers whom 
she had engaged to manage her suit. His famil- 
iarity with its details surprised his wife. 

-“They all expect to see you with her, Dot. I 
wonder if you are really mistress enough of your- 
self to go calmly and sensibly before these gentle- 
men and show them by your whole manner how 
utterly contemptible and ridiculous you consider 
the entire matter ! You could do it if your feelings 
were not involved. For instance, if I were not con- 
cerned you could do it for Mrs. Whiting.” 

“Yes, but bringing you in, Gilbert, is a proof of 
the absurdity of the charge. I have promised Cora 
to forget it all until the day comes, and then to let 
my real sense of indignation control me — But J 
can’t be sure of how it will all turn out, Gilbert.” 
Her voice faltered. 

“ That is just what I am afraid of. Your emo- 
tions are unaccountable and hard to control — You 
are affected by little incidents and trifling looks and 
words that no one else observes, and the results are 
generally unexpected.” 

Constance looked up at Gilbert’s earnest, anxious 
features. 


226 


DIVOBCE. 


“Is it wise to discourage me, in advance, dear? 
I think if you will have confidence in my self-con- 
trol that I will be more apt to rise to the emer- 
gency—” 

“Except that forewarned is forearmed — ” 

“ Does that apply to a woman’s possible feelings ? 
Oh, Gilbert, I know intuitively that the less I think 
about all this the better it will be for us — let me 
forget it !” 

“ Suppose I do my best to make you lose sight of 
it — I really believe. Dot, that I could if I set about 
it. We’ll go back to our old courting days. I’ll read 
to you, and you will play for me — We’ll fancy our- 
selves back in the parlor of your mother’s house in 
the evenings’, and you will practice for me and 
think of me when I am away. My God, how inno- 
cently we amused ourselves then !” 

“ It doesn’t seem possible,” said Constance, sud- 
denly lifting her face to his, “that my society alone 
satisfied you then. Gilbert, wliat is wrong with us, 
now ? I often wonder if the fault is on my side — if 
I have failed to develop as you thought and told me 
I would—” 

“You are talking nonsense — you have developed 
far more than I thought you would — I mean, in the 
time — you have failed in nothing, Constance. But 


DIVORCE. 


227 


mentally and spiritually you live above tlie common 
level, and it taxes you and depresses you to come 
down to your present surroundings — they don’t suit 
you.” 

“ I certainly wish that I had never lived in an at- 
mosphere where separations and divorces were care- 
lessly discussed as belonging to life. They are to 
me tragedies, and it is awful to hear them laughed 
at and regarded as farces.” 

‘‘You are right, it is demoralizing. I agree with 
you there. Could we make up our minds not to 
mention this matter until it is necessary to talk 
about it when the suit comes on ?” 

“ I should be delighted, Gilbert.” 

The plan worked like a charm. When the day 
came for Constance to appear before the referee, 
it simply impressed her as an unpleasant break in a 
delightful experience, accidental, and quickly to be 
over, and with no evil consequences to be antici- 
pated. When she reached the law office where the 
testimony was to be taken, she found herself sur- 
prisingly cool and curious. Everything was novel 
and interesting. Her mind went away from her- 
self and any personal interest in what was to take 
place. She watched and listened to the proceed- 
ings with a deliberate, profound absorption worthy 


228 


DIVORCE. 


of a philosopher bent on studying and analysing 
American divorces. 

Her manner was a surprise to all her acquaint- 
ances, and after a few minutes, Gilbert recovered 
from a slight confusion of looks and voice, caused 
by a doubt of her self-control, and seated himself 
near her, as calmly and carelessly as if taking his 
chair at the opera. Mrs. Whiting was surrounded 
by friends, all elegantly dressed, of easy bearing 
and inclined to exchange quiet comments with 
meaning smiles. There was a total absence of ner- 
vousness or embarrassment in the group ; the law- 
yers glanced at its members and argued mentally in 
favor of the wife in the suit. By degrees the 
friends changed places. W’hen Mr. Whiting came 
in with his lawyers Constance was sitting next to 
his wife and Gilbert was talking to Miss Daisy 
Leavitt. 

Constance was aware of the evil glance that 
flashed from Mr. Whiting’s eyes as they fell on Gil- 
bert ; she bore his next curious, puzzled stare with 
quiet composure. Then his eyes met his wife’s, he 
flushed and turned nervously to his seat. She kept 
her steady gaze flxed on him, the proud scornful ex- 
pression of her features requiring no words to show 
the utter contempt she felt for him. 


DIVOKCE. 


229 


Mr. Whiting evidently meant to do her all the 
harm he could. Constance was surprised at the 
change in his appearance. He was outwardly im- 
proved by the domestic crisis in his life, he was no 
longer stout and dull-eyed, but slight, muscular 
looking, alert in his movements, quickly alive to 
every word and action, and attentive to every wit- 
ness in turn. The sameness of the testimony was 
amusing, it sounded like one story told by different 
persons, the incidents and facts never changed. 
Gilbert- gave the impression of a man thoroughly 
entertained by the absurdity of the entire proceed- 
ing. He was in turn cool, derisive, witty and satri- 
cal. Constance described her long intimacy with 
Mrs. Whiting with an honest candor of voice 
and manner that carried her hearers with her 
from the commencement of her evidence. Her 
cross-examination was a complete triumph for Mrs. 
Whiting. Mr. Whiting could suggest no weapons 
in the form of questions that could penetrate Mrs. 
Travers’ shield of confidence in her husband’s 
honor. Constance was there for his sake, and her 
faith in him, although she never once declared it, 
was like an invisible infiuence purifying the atmos- 
phere. 

Gilbert watched her with undisguised surprise 


230 


DIVORCE. 


and admiration. The lawyers on both sides noted 
her appearance. When speaking, her eyes dilated, 
her cheeks flushed to a rose pink, but her voice wms 
completely under control, and she thought before 
cmswering a single question. 

Bhe was in reality shocked at the constructions 
put upon the most harmless actions, amazed at the 
drift of the questions, forced into a certain mental 
passivity by the overpowering shame of the affair. 

She was only beginning to realize it. 

She sat white and exhausted while the other 
ladies, proudly erect and dignified, went through a 
like ordeal. Then Gilbert drew her arm in his, and 
they went with the others into the open air, which 
felt pure and sweet in comparison with that of the 
offices they had left. 

The whole party started together for the “ Branch.” 
Constance took no share in the general discussion 
and exchange of opinions going on around her, the 
light laughter jarred upon her, the flippant criti- 
cisms on the referee, the lawyers and Mr. Whiting 
seemed out of place. She could not conceive of a 
woman accepting the responsibility of what had just 
occurred, with the indifference exhibited in Mrs. 
Whiting’s manner. It was all over now*, this dreaded 
ordeal, and Constance felt that she had done all 


DIVORCE. 


231 


that Gilbert had expected and required of her ; but 
had she known what the matter involved, she never 
would have found the courage to undertake what 
she had so well accomplished. 

It was like fighting one’s way victoriously through 
a terrible ambush. Had she been decoyed into it ? 
Cora sat beside her on the boat, silent like her and 
preoccupied. Gilbert came and leaned over his 
wife’s shoulder, his fresh color making her look still 
more delicate. 

‘‘ Constance you haven’t spoken to Mrs. Whiting 
since we left the office. Come.” 

He glanced to where Mrs. Whiting was sitting, 
some yards off, talking rapidly to Mr. Sedley. 

Constance did not move, she was pale and lan- 
guid. Cora spoke in a cool, meaning tone : 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Travers, but I think Maude 
should come and thank your wife.” 

Gilbert looked at his wife’s face : 

never mind now. You’re tired out,” he 
w^alked away. 

^ Constance, what did you think of Tom. Whit- 
mg? 

‘‘ I never saw him look so well, Cora.” 

“Nor I. There’s something in it. He has a 
motive for taking such care of himself. Were you 


232 


DIVORCE. 


amused at tlie referee ? He never took liis eyes otf 
your face when jqii were talking.” 

Constance colored. 

‘‘ I noticed that he w^atched all the witnesses very 
closely.” 

“ Was it as bad as you thought it would be ?” 

^‘Much worse, and recalling it makes it even more 

^ so. 

‘‘ Why do you recall it? It is foolish. Forget it 
now. You did splendidly, Constance, I had no idea 
that you could look so calm and speak of things so 
earnestly and quietly. I felt like hugging you, 
several times. I wdll too, when we are alone! 
Every one wanted to tell you the same thing, but 
I suppose if we showed any anxiety or emotion it 
would look as if you had strained points to save 
Maude from danger.” 

“But I didn’t. I simply told the truth.” She 
stood up drawing her wrap about her. “ I’ll go and 
sit with Maude, Cora. Gilbert was right. I was 
thinking and forgot our audience.” Cora detained 
her. 

“You are a shade too obedient, and far too gen- 
erous. When will your house be ready for you ?” 

“Next week.” 

“ Can I come and help you to pack ? I am very 


DIVORCE. 


233 


clever at the business. Aren’t you delighted at the 
prospect of getting back to the city ?” 

Constance put her arm in Cora’s as she spoke : 

‘‘Yes, indeed!” 

“ This has been a trying summer for all of ns, but 
for you particularly. You’ll have to commence to- 
morrow, Con., and just make up your mind to for- 
get everything that has happened to worry you, and 
to busy yourseK with pleasant dreams of the 
future.” 

Constance smiled at her earnestness : 

“ I’ll have enough to do, Cora. If I attend to all 
that I have to think of ; I shall not have any time 
to brood or fret over what is past.” 

“ I sincerely hope you will not 1” 

“What are you hoping now?” asked Gilbert, 
coming up behind Cora. “ You look as earnest and 
mysterious as two conspirators of the dark ages.” 

Cora turned her cold, blue eyes to his with a de- 
fiant stare. His unquestioned control of his wife 
always irritated her. 

“Well, we’re not conspiring against your peace. 
I have been urging upon Constance the necessity of 
forgetting this delightful episode, which the Whit- 
ings have forced upon their best friends, and re- 
membering that her own happiness should be the 


234 


DiYoacs. 


first consideration. I hope she will put aside com- 
pletely any person or thing that even attempts to 
interfere with it.” 

“You are very kind,” said Gilbert, “but Con- 
stance has too much common-sense to magnify 
trifies into troubles.” 

“ I don’t know what you consider a serious trouble 
if you call this matter a trifie,” said Cora, mean- 

ingly- 

“I wasn’t alluding to the fact itself, but simply as 
it concerns Constance. What happened to-day was 
unavoidable, on my account, not on your sister’s. 
Constance understands that, it is now over, success- 
fully over, and the sooner we all forget it the better. 
On that, we two are fully agreed.” 

He smiled curiously at Cora, and put his wife’s 
arm in his own. After a few minutes, the three 
joined Mrs. Whiting, and Gilbert talked of the im- 
provements in his house, and the new arrangements 
he was planning. 

Mrs. Wliiting spoke to Constance about the large 
nursery, and the scene of the morning was com- 
pletely ignored. 

“ It is better so,” Constance thought, as she and 
Gilbert drove home in the light wagon. “I am 
letting Mr. Whiting’s suspicions infiuence my com- 


DIVORCE. 


235 


mon-sense. I will put away tlie whole subject from 
my thoughts, it is lowering and unworthy of Gilbert 
and myself.” 

The moment they were in the house, Gilbert took 
her in his arms and kissed her until she thrilled 
with emotion, and her eyes met his, filled with 
happy tears. 

“ My darling, it is all over now. Promise me to 
forget it ! Tell me that you feel happy, that you 
forgive me, that you will not let this affect you after 
to-day — because — if you do, I can only blame my 
own folly — my own thoughtlessness — ” 

“ Then you were satisfied with me, Gilbert — ” 

“Satisfied ! Oh — my darling — why you surpassed 
yourself. You surprised me. I didn’t 1 now how 
much you love me !” 

“ What kind of a woman is Mrs. Travers ?” Miss 
Daisy Leavitt asked her cousin Maude, that even- 
ing. I thought she was all milk and water until 
to-day.” 

Mrs. Whiting glanced at Cora, who was lying on 
the sofa in the bedroom, her eyes turned on Daisy’s 
face. 

“Ask Cora; she studies women; I haven’t the 
patience.” 

“The feeling, you mean,” said Cora, dryly. 


236 


DIVOECE. 


“As a general thing, women are very -uninterest- 
ing,” said Daisy, slowly, taking the hair-pins from 
her braids, and letting her hair fall to her waist. 
“I haven’t seen much of Mrs. Travers this summer, 
that is, I haven’t taken the trouble to look at her 
or talk to her ; but I got the impression that she 
was a goody-goody sort of woman, one of the 
stereotyped set, far inferior to her husband, intel- 
lectually speaking, but just the woman to keep 
house for him, and wait upon him, ai^ ha^p child- 
ren. You know there are so many of such common- 
place women. They make good wives because they 
never give a man any trouble ; but they are perfect 
bores in society, and I suppose their husbands be- 
come as tired of them as women do.” 

Mrs. Whiting laughed. Cora spoke slowly ; 

“Did you put Mrs. Travers in that category?” 

“Well, yes; but I said, you know, that I judged 
her rapidly by what I know of similar looking 
women.” 

“What do you mean by similar looking women?” 
asked Cora. 

“ Daisy, you are telling us exactly what I wished 
to hear,” said Mrs. Whiting, putting on a loose 
wrapper, and fixing herself comfortably in an easy 
chair. “I have always wanted to know how the 


I 


DIVOECE. 237 

Travers impressed an outsider, like you, for instance, 
who knew nothing of their antecedents. Go on, tell 
me just what you think of them.” 

“Yes, do, Daisy, this is our little scene from the 
‘ School for Scandal,’” said Cora, putting her hands 
behind her head, and looking straight at her cousin’s 
brilliant face. 

Daisy laughed, her color deepened, her eyes 
sparkled. 

“ This is entre nous"' 

“ Oh, of course.” 

“And I may be entirely wrong — ” 

“I want to know what you mean by similar look- 
ing women,” persisted Cora. 

“Well, I know, and I’ve seen crowds of women 
who resemble each other in certain particulars. 
For instance, Mrs. Travers is very young — about 
twenty, I should say, from her whole appearance. 
Do you want details?” 

“Yes; we’re not sleepy,” said Mrs. Whiting. 
“The excitement is over, we can afford to enjoy 
ourselves.” 

“Dissecting Mrs. Travers,” said Cora, “after 
nearly killing her.” 

“Well, to proceed in the lecture : Mrs. Travers is 
young ; she has a very pretty figure ; nice features ; 


288 


DIVORCE. 


a good speaking voice; and, as I discovered to-day, 
a grand pair of eyes. She dresses beautifully ; she 
has the ways of a woman who has always been 
accustomed to wealth and luxury ; she is generally 
quiet, reserved, absorbed in her own domestic 
affairs. Have’nt I described hundreds of young 
wives?” 

“Yes ; and she is all that you say, and still, Daisy, 
dear, you haven’t described women as they are, but 
simply as they appear. You know' nothing, mean- 
wdiile, of their minds and feelings ; you only see 
their actions, or rather their inaction.” 

“Oh, pshaw*, Cora, the common-place w*omen that 
I refer to are common-place through and through. 
That is why their husbands have no mental com- 
panionship with them. I saw to-day that I was 
mistaken in my estimate of Mrs. Travers. She is 
all the more to be pitied. It w^ould be better for 
her if she were common-place in every way. To-day 
she reminded me of the stock heroine of the modern 
novel. A gray-eyed w*oman, with a pure soul, and 
a limitless mental capacity. She is throwm away on 
that husband of hers.” 

“ Daisy Leavitt ! ” 

Mrs. Whiting straightened herself, Cora shut her 
lips, and intently watched the two women. 


DIVORCE. 


239 


“Yes, tlirown aAvaj, Maude! that man is just one 
mass of egotism and selfishness. Did he marry h^r\ 
for her money? Somebody told me that her father ' 
was very wealthy.” 

“They married for love,” said Mrs. Whiting. 

Daisy laughed heartily. 

“He for himself, she all for him. Little fool! 
Why can’t she see what he is as well as strangers, 
see him?” 

“Love is blind,” said Mrs. Whiting. “Besides, ! 
if Mr. Travers is selfish, so are all men selfish. 
You must admit that he is charming in spite of it. 
He is handsome, magnetic, intellectual, well edu- 
cated; WG can excuse his selfishness.” 

“Undoubtedly, since it is his wife who gets the 
benefit of it, and meets its demands.” 

“Well, she is happy; satisfied to kneel at his feet 
and vvorship her idol.” 

“ He is a clever man to. keep her there ! It should 
be the other w^ay. How does he do it? The secret 
ought to be a fortune to him. I’d like to see the 
man that I would kneel to figuratively ! And yet — ” 

She sighed. 

“Well, Dais}^, we’re waiting for the end of that 
reflection. ‘ And yet — what?” 

“Why, Mrs. Travers is to be envied. There can 


^40 


DIVOKCE. 


l>e no true liappiness in marriage unless a woman 
can feel that her husbnnd is worthy of her highest 
adoration. If he is’nt, why then, her ‘ignorance is 
hliss.” I think that for Mrs. Travers ‘to be wise’ 
would be worse than folly; it would be misery.” 

“Mr. Travers was certainly very fortunate in get- 
ting such a v/dfe,” said Mrs. Whiting. “ Constituted 
ns he is, a jealous or an exacting woman would be 
very unhappy with him.” 

“I see his wife trusts him so entirely that she 
forces him to respect himself. Her ignorance is her 
wisdom ; and I could see to-day that he moulds her 
like wax. He may not take advantage of her now, 
but he will when it suits him to do so. It is in his 
face. He is determined-looking. What he can’t 
get by fair means, he will by violence. His anger 
must be something terrible.” 

“Nonsense, Daisy, the man is all good nature.” 

“I don’t like his mouth. Is he well off?” 

“I couldn’t tell you. He always has money to 
■spend. He is in a large paper house in New York. 
I fancy, from what he says, that he has a commis- 
sion on his sales as well as his salary. He specu- 
lates in stocks, I know, because he and Mr. Whitino- 

O 

were both interested in one of the new railroads. 
He bought the cottage they live in this last spring, 


DIVOECE. 


241 


and lie is putting improvements on liis house in 
New York, costly ones, too. He talks silver mines 
constantly, so I suppose lie owns stock in one.” 

“A regular American, eh? He lives on the high- 
pressure system. But he must have capital to 
undertake so much.” 

“He has his wife’s money,” said Cora, quietly, 
from her sofa. 

“I thought you were asleep,” said Daisy. 

“ Oh, no, I have been listening very attentively. 
I wanted to hear your opinion of Mr. Travers. 
We’re like, the three black crows. We’ve picked 
the Travers’ to pieces one by one. So you are not 
favorably impressed with the gentleman, Daisy?” 

“I don’t say that. There is always room for 
improvement, and he has a good v/ife. But I hope 
he doesn’t lose all her money for her.” 

“Not he! he knows too much for that,” said Mrs. 
Whiting. 

“Well, I’m not very sympathetic ; I think women, 
as a rule, are humbugs ; but I felt sorry for Mrs. 
Travers this morning. It must have been very hard 
upon her. Has she only the two children ? When 
does she expect this one?” 

“In January,” said Cora. 

“Dear me, Maude ! this may injure her or it!” 




242 


DIYOECE. 


“ Oil, pshaw, no ! She is as strong as it is possi- 
ble to be. She has never been ill a day since her 
marriage. She has her children very easily.” 

“ I’m sure I’m glad of it, for her sake. Mande, 
are you as heartless as you seem, or do you pretend 
this unkindness?” 

“ I’m getting hardened.” 

“ Getting ! Oh, Maude, I think you’re disgraceful ! 
For heaven’s sake, if you get this divorce, either 
marry quickly or go to Europe. For God’s sake, 
Maude, give Constance Travers a chance to keep 
her husband faithful to her ! ” 

“Why, yes, Maude, whatever he may be, she 
deserves some consideration from you,” said Daisy, 
as she left the room. 


XV. 


A few days after Constance returned to the city, 
Cora and Daisy paid her a visit. Her house was 
not yet in order, the carpetless parlors were full of 
packing-cases, and there was a general odor of fresh 
paint, and a continuous hammering in the air. The 
servant took them into the new library, and left 
them to admire the delightful combination of luxury 
and comfort in its appointments. Daisy sank into 
the easiest chair in the room and stared curiously 
at everything. 

“ Never mind me, Cora, I am reading character 
through surroundings. The man who conceived of 
this room is a born Sybarite.” 

Cora laughed. 

“ I think we are all decsendants of that race.” 

“ Well I enjoy rooms like this, as much as any- 
one, Cora, but I can tell you that if I marry I won’t 
243 


244 


DIYOBCE. 


indulge in any of them, I’ve discovered that taking 
care of them wears a woman out.” 

“ Your common-place Tvomen, no doubt, because 
their souls never rise above the ‘ moths and rust 
that corrupt,’ but sensible women hire good ser- 
vants and let them do the moth-hunting.” 

‘‘ I don’t know that you can trust servants so im- 
plicitly. If you have very costly things you natur- 
ally take the trouble to watch over them.” 

“ Well, everything material can be replaced, but 
we can’t renew ourselves, so good-by furniture, say 
I, if either is to wear out the other, 

“ That’s my doctrine, but I’ll never own the ex- 
pensive things. My house shall be all comfort, and 
no luxury !” 

“ Hurry up and furnish it, will you ? I want a 
new house to stop at.” 

Constance came in, looking very white and ex- 
hausted. ‘‘We’ve disturbed you,” said Cora, “ but 
Maude has had a letter from Mr. Whiting, and 
Daisy and I thought you would like know what 
is in it.” 

“ If it is anything pleasant,” said Constance, “but 
indeed, I am glad to see you. Mr. Travers is just 
gone. There are so many little things to be at- 


DIVORCE. 


245 


toiidcd to, and lie won’t let me exert myself, so lie 
is kept quite busy.” 

The house must be lovely if this room is a sam- 
ple,” said Daisy. 

“It is very much improved, but it is so lone; 
since I lived in such a large one, that I’m not quite 
used to it 3^et. Would you like to see all the addi- 
tions ?” 

“ But are you able ?” asked Cora, doubtfully. _ 

“ Oh, yes, perfectly. The nursery is so pretty, 
the children are delighted with it. You can hear 
them singing. They are fixing their toys. I was 
with them and I got tired laughing at them. Bertie 
unconsciously imitates his father, and I can’t keep 
a straight face.” 

Daisy admired the nurserj^ aloud, the children 
mentally, and made other such notes as she fol- 
lowed Constance from room to room. 

“What a fortress for a man,” she thought, “is a 
home with such a woman in it !” Then she studied 
her subject keenly but admiringly, while Cora talked 
to it. 

They were in the sitting-room, Constance sat. 
down on the lounge and Cora sat beside her. 

“ Con., have you no curiosity about Tom’s let- 
ter ?” 


246 


DIVORCE. 


“Does it ccncern me?” asked Constance, ear- 
nestly indifferent. 

“You are tlie indirect cause of it, I am sure. I 
suppose you thoroughly convinced Tom of the ab- 
surdity and wickedness of his charges, for he asks 
Maude to drop all legal proceedings and return to 
him. He urges it for her own sake, as well as for 
his and the children’s. Con., are you not a little 
surprised?” 

Constance was looking straight at Cora, Daisy 
could not detect a sign of anxiety or consciousness 
in her manner, and the earnest, sympathetic expres- 
sion of her eyes and features, was evidently excited 
by thoughts of the Whitings and wholly impersonal. 

“You said the other day that he had some motive 
for taking such care of himself. This may be it. 
Of course, Maude will not go back to him,” Con- 
stance said quietly. 

“ Certainly not. She is jubilant over the letter 
because it completely exonerates her, and I thought 
you should have the satisfaction of knowing that he 
gave us all that trouble and mortification to gratify 
his spite.” 

** Still, if it would bring about a reconciliation, 
why I supx^ose none of us would regret the trouble 
he gave us.” 


DIVORCE. 


247 - 


“Oil, there is no hope of that.” 

“I know it. Maude has never wavered from her 
first decision. She has remarkable tenacity of pur- 
pose.” 

Cora laughed nervously and glanced at Daisy. 

“ Daisy and I have been urging her to accept his 
offer. He promises complete reformation. We 
thought that perhaps Maude had had enough of 
separation and scandal, but she is determined to try 
life as a divorced woman. So perhaps if divorce 
proves as unsatisfactory as separation, and Tom’s 
good intentions hold out, she may yet come to her 
senses. He may have no soul and very poor intel- 
lectual faculties, but he certainly has a clearer con- 
ception of the duties and responsibilities of life than 
Maude has. Now, Constance, you are in posses- 
sion of the latest developments in the case, and we 
must go.” 

“ How well Mrs. Travers understands Maude !” 
said Daisy, when the cousins were in the street. 

“ Perfectly. Constance is a clever woman, and 
besides, Maude was frank with her from the begin- 
ning.” 

“She must understand her husband.” 

“ Why so ? She really possesses the charity that 
thinks no evil. Then again, she married for love at 


248 


DIVORCE. 


eighteen, and Mr. Travers loves her I believe as de^ 
votedlj as he can love a woman. She draws out 
his best qualities. She has that influence with 
everybody. You watch them together. He is 
another creature when she is away. She never sees 
him as we have seen him.” 

“ Perhaps she won’t see in him what we dislike.” 

Constance is not an actress. When he comes 
into a room where she is, she changes in appear- 
- ance. She gains color and brilliancy by magic'; he 
amuses himself exciting her emotions, and she re-, 
spends to his looks and words like a delicate instru- 
ment. At flrst, I thought that he was unconscious 
of his power over her, and he seemed to me a charm- 
ing lover and husband ; but as soon as I discovered 
that he could use all his arts simply to test his skill 
and satisfy his vanity, I lost all respect for him. 
He reminds me now of the clever authors and actors 
who can describe and portray the most delicate sen- 
timents, and then go home and abuse their wives in 
private. Maude imagines that she can influence 
him as he can his wife. Bah ! why he can be all 
things to all women. He can quote poetry by the 
hour.” 

“Yes, I know it,” said Daisy, with an odd laugh. 

“ What, has he been trying his gifts with you ?” 


DIVOECE. 


249 


“Don’t betray me, Cora, dear. Yon know the 
first day I was at Long Branch he was introduced 
to me, and the next day he went to the pic-nic with 
us. Well, Mrs. Travers was not in the party, and I 
didn’t know that such a person existed. — Cora, we 
had a desperate flirtation — simply desperate. Com- 
ing home I was really weighing possibilities, won- 
dering if such a fascinating individual would be 
worth bestowing myself and my fifty thousand dol- 
lars upon, always supposing that he was equally 
charmed. Imagine my sensations wdien somebody 
asked him how Mrs. Travers was. I could feel the 
blood rushing to my cheeks, and then, I suddenly 
grasped at a straw, it might be his mother that was 
meant. But he said carelessly, ‘ My wife is quite 
well, thank you, but she is wearing heavy mourning 
and goes out very seldom.’ Oh, Cora, I could have 
strangled him ! There was a whole day wrasted, and 
he had cheated me into spending some serious feel- 
ing upon him. Oh, I was so angry with myself ! 
But what a master of flirtation he is !” 

“ He is, and Maude persists in believing that he 
doesn’t flirt with her, but that they have tastes in 
common and mutually attract each other.” 

“ She is very foolish then, ridiculously so for her 
age. Why, a married man who could act as he did 


250 


DIYOECE. 


that one day with me, has no fidelity of heart. He 
is incapable of being true to any woman, wife or 
friend.” 

“ Come to think of it, Daisy, yonr powers as a 
coquette had been described to him, he may have 
supposed that you knew he had a wife, and perhaps 
he thought it an even thing, a test case in the art 
of flirtation. I’d give him the benefit of the doubt, 
in your case, because you should have known all 
about him from either Maude or me.” 

“That may be, but my opinion of his character 
remains unchanged.” 

“ Flirtation seemed to be the sole motive actuat- 
ing the gentlemen that we met last summer.” 

“That was to be expected. Oh, well, Cora, we 
are better off unmarried unless we can meet honest 
men with good principles underneath their attrac- 
tive qualities.” 

“How are we to meet them ? The fact of having 
money keeps admirable men at a distance. It makes 
us suspicious of motives.” 

“ I know it ! Whenever a man pays me serious 
attention I find myself w^ondering if it is I or my 
money that he is addressing. And it is too late to 
play poor, unless Maude would take us off where we 


DIVOECE. 


251 


are not known and introduce us as two poor young 
women witli only our faces for fortunes.” 

Maude isn’t going to sacrifice her comfort to our 
matrimonial prospects. She is safely fixed now in 
her own house, she’ll. get her divorce and play vam- 
pire, unless — ” 

Well, finish.” 

“ I was thinking of the probability of her marry- 
ing—” 

“Whom?” 

“ Well, she likes Mr. Mar chant — but, he is one of 
your admirers, and so — ” Daisy laughed musi- 
cally. 

“ He is no admirer of mine, Cora, whatever put 
that in your head, he never was. It lies between 
you and Maude, and he certainly was attracted by 
one of you last summer. Why, what are you flush- 
ing for? I want you to give me your advico, 
Maude has invited me to spend the winter with 
her—” 

« Do — do it by all means ! Oh, Daisy, then I 
can go home — it would settle several things that 
worry me. * You would be a great check on Maude, 
she feels a little in awe of you — ” 

“And I would be in the same city with Mr. Sed- 
ley, and Mr. Marchant would have an opportunity 


252 


DIVOECE. 


to make np liis mind as to Avliicli house his heart 
turned. Well, it is almost a matter of indifference 
to me. I don’t think it would trouble me if I never 
saw Mr. Sedley again. He has no charms for me — 
he is too rich to want me for my money, and his 
indecision amuses me when it doesn’t pique me. 
I’ll tell you one thing, Cora, it isn’t wise to assume 
that Maude can hurt this little woman. You are 
too apt to let Maude see that j^ou think she can do 
it.” 

“ I know it, Daisy. My indignation runs off with 
my common sense. I always regret it after speak- 
ing to her.” 

‘‘ I wouldn’t admit the mere idea. You couldn’t 
make his wife doubt Mr. Travers if you talked for- 
ever, that is certain. If he visits Maude, I shall 
treat him exactly as I do any gentleman who comes 
to the house. I shall never admit that he is more 
intimate and at home with her than others are, 
never 1 Oh, if Maude wants me to live with her she 
will have to act with dignity, otherwise, I pack my 
trunk. Last summer satisfied me. I’m not too 
grasping. Besides, Maude can hunt up another 
Mr. Travers. Society abounds in such men. She 
needn’t covet that particular specimen of the genus. 
He ought to be kept in a glass case. He requires 


DIVORCE. 


253 


too much attention and adoration to be allowed out. 
Talking of vampires, I think he is one. Look at his 
wife’s face! It is etherialized, every faculty and 
emotion are kept on the strain for his benefit. He 
absorbs her life and gives her nothing in return but 
added cares. Why even Tom. Whiting with all his 
faults was thoughtful of Maude’s health. He ex- 
acted very little from her. He was fond of his 
children, why he would spend hours with them, and 
you couldn’t be in his company ten minutes without 
hearing their names. I never heard Mr. Travers 
mention one of his children.” 

“ And you won’t, his thoughts don’t travel so far 
from himself. He only thinks of what he can use, 
either for his comfort or his fame. Constance has 
all the responsibility and he has all the fun.” 

“ How long have you known these people ?” 

“ I’ve known Constance since she was ten, we 
were at school together, and she is just the same 
clever, conscientious creature to-day that she was 
then, exactly. We never had much to do with each 
other. My ways frightened her. She carried off 
all the prizes and I never earned one. She had 
been married about a month when Maude met her, 
and the intimacy has gone on increasing ever since. 


254 


DIVORCE. 


It is lier Imsband’s wish, and Constance is too good 
to oppose any desire that he may express.” 

“ I thought she was one of a large family. Where 
do her relatives keep themselves ?” 

Why, you saw crowds of them last summer at 
her cottage.” 

“Did I?. I don’t remember them. Do they 
amount to anything ?” 

“ Yes, indeed ! They are very influential, good 
people, entirely too conservative in their views of 
life to suit Mr. Travers. He respects them and 
avoids them, and they regard him as an innovation 
in the family, a doubtful experiment, and they rather 
prefer to visit Constance when he is away. I’ve 
heard all this, of course, in a round-about way. 
Constance has so much to absorb her that she 
doesn’t realize how he has withdrawn her from her 
own family, and they are aware of it and blame him 
for it entirely.” 

“ I think I’ll cultivate her, this winter.” 

“ Do. Maude doesn’t appreciate her. The book 
that Mr. Travers recommends to Maude and dis- 
cusses with her, ethically, you know, Constance 
reads too, but she doesn’t discuss them. She is 
very sensitive, very high principled, and she prac- 
tices the Christianity that we all, profess ! I don’t 


DIYOr.CE. 


255 


think that her husband could bring himself to talk 
materialism and atheism with her.” 

“ He’d be a fool if he did. The better Christian 
she is the better for him. But he goes to church, 
regularly.” 

“ Of course, he does. He is a communicant, and 
one of our vestry. Oh, he is careful to stand well 
in the community, and I don’t know that he really 
is not a Christian, but he can argue fluently on the 
opposite side.” 

He c oes'i't do it I suppose when his wife is pres- 
ent.” 

“ Oh, mercy no ! He confines his rationalistic 
arguments to a limited audience — generally of one.” 

“ Why, you don’t need to go to the theatre for 
amusement, Cora. Private comedies are more in- 
tense and interesting.” 

“All, but you can’t tell how they are going to end. 
There is a great deal of anxiety connected Tsith 
them. You see in plays and novels the situations 
result from misunderstandings, never from inuate 
defects in the characters of the heroes and heroines. 
No matter how desperate the case, they can be sud- 
denly reformed and reconciled by a smile, a few 
words, a slight action. Look at Maude’s position ! 
In a novel, if a man ivTote his wife such a letter as 


256 


DIVOKCE. 


Tom’s, slie would see liim at once, and they would 
have a sentimental conversation, kiss, and make up. 
Oh, no. In real life you cannot shut your eyes to 
-.the characters of the people that are acting. They 
will follow out the laws of their being, and, if they 
.are morally weak and selfish, there is no use in look- 
ing for miracles. Yoti can’t change human nature !” 

“ How about the power of Christianity ?” 

“ But a person must cling to its precepts to find 
help against besetting sins. You know as well as I 
do, that Maude is conscious of her own shortcom- 
ings. Tom. candidly admits that he has been 
wrong, and a man who can dissect and analyse prin- 
ciples and emotions as minutely as Mr. Travers can, 
doesn’t take a single step without realizing the 
motive, and the possible effects of it. That man is 
as cool as ice. He never says or does anything 
from impulse.” 

“ Who is he, anyhow ? Do you know much about 
his family ?” 

“ I guess he is his own ancestor. I never took 
the trouble to inquire about him. I assumed that 
Mr. Morgan wouldn’t give him his pet daughter un- 
less he was all that a man should be. He has a 
curious specimen of a brother that turned up sud- 
denly and then disappeared. That was in the first 


DIVORCE. 


257 


year after Constance was married. Constance must 
have liked him to judge from the way she treated 
him, but I don’t think our Mr. Travers at all enjoyed 
his society.” 


XYI. 


In December Mrs. Whiting got her divorce. Mr. 
Wliiting sailed for Europe, and Cora returned to 
her mother. 

Daisy assumed the responsibilities of her new 
position with an ease of manner that disarmed the 
suspicion that she had ever known a care. She 
declared that she had fallen in love with Mrs. 
Travers, and as Constance paid no visits, Daisy, as 
she expressed it, “made and returned her own 
calls.” 

Constance rather dreaded her new friend. Daisy’s 
great blue eyes saw everything ; she had no illu- 
sions left, and her practical views on every subject 
jarred on Constance, and made her shrink from 
being impulsive or confidential with such an unsym- 
pathetic woman. Mrs. Whiting was kind and atten- 
tive as she had been before Jessie’s birth; but the 
imaginary bond that had existed between the two 
258 


DIVORCE. 


259 


women could not be conjured. Constance tried to 
think the best of Mrs. Whiting, but she remained a 
perplexing moral problem. Each Avoman had things 
in her philosophy that the other did not dream of. 
Both women read, both thought, yet it never 
occurred to either to make a confident of the other. 
Their intimacy was apparently warm, but it was 
reflected heat. 

Constance had no thoughts for Mrs. Whiting. 
Gilbert had become all-absorbing. He quite filled 
his wife’s world, and if left to himself, would have 
excluded even her children from her care and sym- 
pathy. 

He was often restless and excitable, the natural 
result of having business cares on his mind that 
exacted constant activity of thought. His spirits 
rose and fell with his stocks, and Constance had to 
conceal her own anxiety, and soothe him with prop- 
erly worded sympathy. Her tact, although prompted 
by love, was often at fault. 

He wanted to sell three of her houses, that were 
well rented, and put the money in railroad stock. 

Why not keep the houses, Gilbert ? They return 
a nice income, and give us no concern. These stocks ‘ 
seem to be a perpetual worry to you, and I suffer 
in sympathy.” 


260 


DIVORCE. 


‘‘There is no necessity for that at all! I can 
stand all the annoyance possible. Yon can’t, I know 
it. I ought to have more consideration for you, of 
course. But you see, after controlling myself all 
day, I must give vent to my feelings in some man- 
ner. Don’t mind me, Constance 1 I’ve got to take 
the thorns with the roses 1” 

But Constance sought in vain for the roses in 
Gilbert’s pecuniary gardens. His trees, to believe 
him, were all strong and vigorous, and he tended 
them with untiring energy and constant expense, 
but they bore as yet neither bud nor blossom. 

The mine absorbed money as a sponge takes 
water. Constance heard and read of fortunes lost 
in wild speculations, but she did not think of apply- 
ing her knowledge to her own personal situation. 
It never occurred to her that Gilbert might be a 
victim to fraudulent representations, or that he was 
as ]Drone as another to self-deception. He was so 
sanguine, so sure of success, so self-satisfied and 
busy, that she was carried away by his enthusiasm, 
and had perfect confidence in his business talents 
and shrewdness. 

He had never yielded to her wishes for a cash 
system in domestic expenses. The credit system 
' still flourished for the benefit of their creditors, and 


DIVORCE. 


261 


Constance liad given np alluding to lier own theo- 
ries, since she saw no prospect of ever being able 
to reduce them to practice. 

She had no control of money, and she perceived 
the reason — Gilbert wanted the use of every dollar 
that he could put his hand upon, he saw so much 
interest going to waste while it vfas out of his 
possession. 

She understood him so thoroughly, that the slight 
deprivation did not make her unhappy. She was 
surrounded by luxuries ; she could order anything 
she fancied ; but at times when he subscribed gen- 
erously to public charities she realized that she 
could not interest herselt m the private ones that 
appealed to her sympathies as a mother and a 
woman. 

She often recalled her father’s treatment of her. 
Shediad her y early allowance for what he called “a 
girl’s little desires,” and although he had never 
talked of a man’s duties, nor descanted sentiment- 
ally on sympathy, he had never failed to read her 
wishes in her eyes, and to gratify them unasked, 
But if Constance at times indulged in these mental 
comparisons, she always found excuses for Gilbert’s 
shortcomings. She demanded nothing, and he 
had too many things to think of as it was, She 


262 


DIYORCE. 


could not expect liim to anticipate her wishes in 
every respect. 

“ If I were to ask him for money he would give it 
to me,” was her soothing conclusion. In the mean- 
time she was giving him all she had. She sold the 
three houses, and Gilbert proposed going to Penn- 
sylvania to investigate the new speculation before 
putting into it the proceeds of the sale. 

“Gilbert, I wish you preferred real estate to these 
mines and railroads,” she said, as he was packing 
his valise. “There may be more money in them, 
but there is less comfort for us. Must you go away 
this week?” 

He was growing flushed and impatient over an 
obstinate lock. He answered without looking at 
her: 

“111 be home on Saturday. Now, don’t com- 
mence to worry. Write to me every day, that will 
amuse you. You wont have time to miss me. Get 
some one to stay with you if you think you will feel 
lonely. I can’t put off going. There are four of us, 
you see, starting together. Business- chances don’t 
wait. I’ll enjoy myself the whole time, so j^ou need 
not feel anxious about me.” 

He gave the key a few vigorous turns, and crushed 
some stockings and handkerchiefs into the valise. 


DIVORCE. 


2^3 


Then he began a hurried hunt for some maps and 
papers that he would need. Constance found them 
and put them near him without speaking. He was 
ready to start, and she followed him dowm stairs, con- 
scious that his thoughts were already on the road. 
The daylight on her face, when he opened the 
door, suddenly recalled them. 

Constance, don’t you feel well?” 

“Yes,” she laughed faintly. “But I don’t want 
you to leave me.” 

“ Oh, you must be sensible and take care of your- 
self. You are as well as usual?” 

“I don’t feel the same courage, Gilbert. Pa and 
ma were here when Jessie was born.” Her eyes 
filled, her lips quivered. 

Gilbert looked touched and perplexed. He drew 
her into the parlor, kissed and soothed her, prom- 
ised to write her long letters every night, and fin- 
ally made her smile and agree to be brave and cheer- 
ful during his absence. 

He was not going for pleasure, he impressed upon 
her ; but for her sake and the children’s he must be 
energetic in business. Still, he walked down the 
street with the air of a man bent on a pleasant 
errand, and Constance watched him until he turned 
a distant corner. 


264 


DIVORCE. 


Then she followed his advice ; she sent for a car- 
riage, had the children dressed, and went for a drive 
in the fresh, bracing air of the Park. His prescrip- 
tions always did wonders for h6r. 

The next day Avas Sunday. Constance went to 
church. She always found it in her heart to j)ray, 
and with prayer came the sense of her duty in the 
matter of praise and thangskiving. It seemed to 
her that God overwhelmed her with blessings. He 
gave her her heart’s desires ; she felt that her love 
and gratitude were very far from being proved by 
her service. 

She was walking homeward very slowly, for she 
was enjoying her reflections, when a gentleman spoke 
to her. It was Mr. Marchant. Constance was sur- 
prised, and then as suddenly comprehended his 
motive. Having quickly touched upon her concerns, 
he asked for Miss Cora Leavitt. The indifference 
in his voice was assumed. Constance told him that 
Cora was with her mother. 

“You have known her for some time, I think,” 
Mr. Marchant hazarded. 

“For fourteen years,” Constance said, after a 
slight pause. 

He seemed surprised, and walked half a block 
before saying : 


DIYORCE. 


265 


“The sisters are very much alike, I think.” 

“Personally, yes; although Cora is very much 
handsomer than Maude.” 

“I was referring to their characters. I don’t see 
much personal resemblance between them.” 

“Why do you think their characters are alike ?” 

“I got that impression last summer. They are 
both certainly independent, haughty, self-reliant 
women.” 

“ I should call those traits of disposition, the 
result of surrounding circumstances. Characters are 
founded ujDon innate principles, are they not? 
You can only study them through actions, and even 
then, important ones. In trivial things, it is some- 
times unwise to assert oneself.” 

“So you think the sisters unlike in character?” 

“Decidedly so.” 

“I certainly admired Miss Cora very much,” Mr. 
Marchant remarked, in an explanatory tone, which 
interested Constance. “She impressed me as being 
a very independent woman, and yet a very honest 
one, incapable of affectation.” 

“Why shoidd she affect anything?” 

“Well, some very charming women assume little 
traits and tricks of manner that they think agreeable 
to men.” 


266 


DIVORCE. 


Constance laughed. 

I cannot imagine a Miss Leavitt assuming any- 
thing. Besides, affectation is said to be the essence 
of vulgarity, and the Leavitts are ladies and gen- 
tlemen.” 

Mr. Marchant left Constance at her own door. 
The interview had a rapid result. Cora came to see 
her on the following Wednesday, with a glowdng 
account of a delightful call from Mr. Marchant on 
the previous evening. 

This incident somewhat broke the monotony of 
the week. Otherv/ise it dragged heavily. Gilbert’s 
letters were all about business. Constance could 
not answer them with personal hopes, fears and 
yearnings, so she wrote sensibly, practically, and, to 
herself, unsatisfactorily. Saturday came and passed, 
and Gilbert did not return. On Sunday Constance 
was taken ill. Mrs. Lacy was soon with her, and 
the nurse, who had always had the care of her, was 
sent for, and name without delay. 

The doctor only left the room for the sitting-room. 
Constance watched him, with a curious expression 
in her face, whenever he approached her. At length 
he went down to the library, where Mr. Lacy kept 
guard over the stillness. 


DIVORCE. 


267 


“You must telegraph to Mr. Travers,” he said to 
that gentleman. 

Constance shook her head when her aunt went to 
her for Gilbert’s address. 

“ It will frighten him, Aunt Hetty, and he said he 
would start the moment he was through with his 
business. He may be on his way home now.” 

Dr. Johnstone received this message with an odd 
contraction of his eyes. Then he shrugged his 
shoulders significantly. 

“ He shouldn’t have left her. Damn such men, 
anyhow !” 

Mrs. Pearson, who was by no means a sentimen- 
tal personage, being on the contrary a miracle of 
muscular endurance and experience, gave vent to 
her indignation in the sitting-room, where Mrs. 
Lacy was trying to assume her most cheerful ex- 
pression of countenance and tone of voice. 

“ I never saw her like this, ma-am. She’s fret- 
ting for her husband. He always sat and held her 
hands, and kissed her, he didn’t say much, but he 
always acted so beautifully ! And then her ma was 
here, and her pa used to be so fond of her, petting 
her like a little child, and encouraging her. Per- 
haps, if you’d speak to her, ma-am.” 

“ I think she would pay more attention to you, 


268 


DIVORCE. 


Mrs. Pearson. If yon conld rouse her -without 
frightening her.” 

So they went back to the darkened room. 

Constance was suffering acutely, but the desola- 
tion of loneliness was upon her. The physical pain 
she had endured and was prepared for, but the men- 
tal agony was new and intolerable. She could have 
cried aloud in her longing for the human sympathy 
that she craved. She never expected to be lying 
thus, with possible Death staring her in the face, 
and neither father, nor mother, nor husband near 
her to speak to her or listen to, perhaps, her last 
wishes. She tried to live over the moments when 
her children were born, to recall her husband’s 
presence and actions then. But the recollection 
only made the present more terrible. Just to feel 
the touch of Gilbert’s hands and lips, just to hear 
his voice speaking to her, would have been the 
greatest blessings she thought that could be shown 
her ! It seemed to her so little to demand, so very 
little to crave in return for what she was endurins 

O 

so willingly for him. He might have stayed with 
me!” she reflected bitterly. “He might have 
thought of me — first 1” Then she clasped her little 
hands together ajid looked up in Mrs. Pearson’s 
face with her great yearning eyes, hot and aching 


DIVORCE. 


269 


and perfectly tearless. For her reasoning faculties 
were all excited, there was nothing in the situation 
that appealed to her emotions. 

“ Come, come, Mrs. Travers, you must rouse your- 
self and be cheerful,” said Mrs. Pearson, kindly but 
decidedly. ‘‘ You’ll hurt ^’'ourself if you go on 
worrying this way ” 

Constance turned her head aside and shut her 
eyes. 

Gilbert may come any minute,” whispered Mrs. 
Lacy, soothingly. 

“ Is it very late ?” Constance asked with a glance 
toward the window. 

“ Nearly six o’clock, dear, but it is a lovely 
night.” 

“But I dread it. Aunt Hetty — the long, long 
night.” 

“ If you’d just stop worrying and thinking of 
yourself,” said Mrs. Pearson, abruptly, “ you’d do 
very well. It isn’t like you to be nervous and fret- 
ful. Sure you don’t want to harm the child, you’ll 
want it safe in your arms to show your husband 
when he comes.” 

A clear, childish voice was now audible. It was 
Bertie singing at the top of his lungs an evening 
hymn. • 


270 


DIVORCE. 


“ Sun of my soul, thou Saviour dear, 

It is not night if thou be near ; 

O, may no earth born cloud arise 
To hide thee from thy servant’s eyes.” 

Constance listened, lier face flushing, her eyes 
growing soft and misty. Bertie sang on, Jessie’s 
faint voice tried vainly to keep with his. 

. “ I must kiss the children. Aunt Hetty,” Con- 
stance said after a few moments. “ Will you bring 
them down ?” 

She did not say what was in her thoughts, but it 
was not necessary. Mrs. Lacy first consulted Dr. 
Johnstone. 

‘‘ By all means let her hug and kiss the children. 
Anything to change the current of her thoughts, to 
get her mind occupied with ordinary concerns !” 

Bertie had all the credit of what his hymn had 
eflected. He lay beside his mother with his arms 
clasping her neck, pouring out the treasures of his 
warm little heart in kisses and half-finished sen- 
tences. Jessie was satisfied to feel her mother’s arm 
about her. She fell asleep with her golden curls 
brushing the pillow. 

The children gone, Constance lay very quiet, sel- 
dom speaking, but her features were natural, her 
eyes were soft and dreamy. She was recalling sen- 


DTVOECE. 


271 


tences suggested by Bertie’s hymn, meditations that 
came at intervals to engross and sooth her. 

She no longer felt alone. Human sympathy fail- 
ing her, she sought and found Divine comfort, the 
“ peace that passeth all understanding.” She had, 
never so fully realized the sustaining power of faiths 
She prayed for life, yet death had lost its terror. 
The transition seemed spiritually imperceptible, and 
beyond was rest, the rest that remaineth for God^s 
people. She began to blame herself, she had been 
selfish, ungrateful, doubting God’s goodness, care- 
less of her child’s safety. Her love went out to it, 
she forgot herself. 

Mrs. Pearson began to assume the importance be- 
longing to her position, and to exact the obedience 
due to her superior knowledge and experience. Dr. 
Johnstone grew talkative, a good sign with him, 
and Mrs. Lacy’s heart stopped thumping in her 
breast. 

“ They don’t seem so worried now,” she said to 
her husband, going into the library with the idea of 
relieving his anxiety. “ Constance is very cheerful 
and brave, but she is having a hard time — ” 

“Poor child ! The doctor was asking me her age. 
She’s twenty-four, isn’t she ? Yes, I thought I was 


572 


DIVORCE. 


right. He wanted to know if she had been suffering 
irom mental trouble within a few months.” 

‘‘What did 3^011 say ?” 

Wh3% I told him the truth. I couldn’t throw 
^lifficulties in his way by deceiving him when her 
life is in question. He says if the child lives, which 
is doubtful, that it will be very nervous and deli- 
neate.” 

“ Well, I was prepared for anything last Novem- 
ber ! Some one has to suffer for every wrong that 
is done, I suppose, but it does seem unjust that 
Constance should be the one in this case.” 

“ The innocent for the guilty, eh ! Well, I hope 
Travers has come to his senses. This ought to be 
a lesson to him.” 

“ But if he had cared for his wife as he should 
have, this would not have happened. He would 
have thought of her, last summer, instead of being 
reckless of her peace. He showed no consideration 
for her, so, of course, none could be expected for 
the child. However, he doesn’t care for children.” 

“ No, he seems to be a curious combination of in- 
tellectual and physical powers. He has strong 
animal passions, and I don’t think he would tamper 
with nature’s laws, he knows too much, but he does 
not appear to have the love of children among his 


DIVOKCE. 


273 


virtues. Still, he lets them severely alone, Con- 
stance has complete charge of them — ” 

“ Because he shirks trouble and personal incon- 
venience. But I don’t know when I longed so 
much to see anyone’s face as I do to see his now. 
If he would only come ! Constance loves him more 
than ever, I think.” 

“ Well, that is all the better for both. What a 
charming place they have here! Comfort is no 
name for it.” 

“ Yes, but I’m afraid it has helped to weaken 
Constance. Gilbert is so exacting. Every room 
must be kept in just such order, and he scolds so 
if things are scratched or injured. I wouldn’t care 
to have to live with him 1” 

“ But he doesn’t scold Constance 1” 

‘^No, but she blames herself if the servants are 
careless, so if comes to about the same thing. In 
fact, Frank, unless people are so wealthy that they 
need not care, I think these costly articles increase 
the discomforts of life.” 

She left him to reflect on the beauty of content- 
ment. Toward morning the child was born. It was 
a boy, and Constance, happy and completely ex- 
hausted, fell into a natural and refreshing sleep, she 
wakened quiet and smiling and wanted her child. 


274 


DIVOKCE. 


Mrs. Pearson broiiglit it in from the sitting-room 
and put it beside her. Constance looked at it for 
some minutes in silence. It was large and perfectly 
formed, but white and almost inanimate. 

‘‘ My poor baby !” 

It was unnecessary to tell her that it’s chance of 
living was very slight, and depended materially upon 
her. Ability to take care of it was to be her object 
and study. 

“I don’t think you ought to feel so worried,” 
said Dr. Johnstone, bluntly. “ The child is very 
feeble, but it will gain slowly. You must’t look for 
miracles, and if it frets, don’t get alarmed. You’ll 
realize that you have a baby, this time. The others 
were little Trojans, all muscle and vitality. This 
young fellow is a bundle of nerves. But he’ll come 
along, have patience with him for a few months and 
he’ll be quite a credit to the family.” 

He is the largest and prettiest of the three,” said 
Mrs. Pearson, admiringly. “He looks like his 
mother. He’ll be the strongest of them all yet.” 

The doctor went away glowing with inward satis- 
faction. 

Constance lay awake in the shadowy room and 
watched the little form and listened to its faint 
breathing. 


DIVORCE. 


275 


“ Constance, you must feel very liappy,” said Mrs. 
Lacy, “I can’t tell you liow thankful your uncle and 
I are ! I sent him off to bed, and I think Mrs. Pear- 
son might lie down for a few hours. I feel so very 
wakeful and strong.” 

“ I’m going to sleep, too. Aunt Hetty. Will you 
send word to grandma, if Uncle Frank goes away 
before I wake again ? I am so anxious to get well 
that I’m going to be a model of common-sense,” 
she spoke playfully. 

“And I’ll watch your slumber, and think over 
names for the boy.” 

“Oh, he is to be called John. Grandma knows 
that, we settled it together.” 

The baby absorbed the general sympathy and 
anxiety. Its weak cries were pathetic and constant, 
but they, at least, gave signs of life and sounded like 
music to one pair of ears. 

“It will be different when I am able to be up,” 
said Constance. 

Late on Tuesday, Gilbert’s strong, bright voice 
resounded through the hallways. 

“Hello, Dot, where are you?” 

He was in the room before Mrs. Lacy had time to 
intercept him, and at a glance he comprehended the 


276 


DIVORCE. 


situation. Slie saw liim kneel and draw liis wife’s 
head to his breast. Then she left the room. 

Constance was too happy to complain, or ask for 
any explanation of Gilbert’s actions. It was a long 
time before she realized the true effect upon her of 
his absence at that period. She had taken great 
steps forward, both mentally and spiritually, while 
willing to admit to him, and believe, that she had 
simply missed him and longed for his presence. 

Having assured himself that Constance was safe 
from any of the ill effects that had been appre- 
hended, Gilbert showed no anxiety about the child. 
Constance did not see him when he first looked at 
it in Mrs. Pearson’s arms. 

When she expressed her own grief about its fee- 
bleness, she thought that Gilbert was purposely un- 
affected by what she said, with the view of making 
her feel more satisfied and cheerful. 

“On the whole. Dot,” he said, “we should be 
quite thankful for the results as they are. If you 
will get strong I shall be satisfied. The boy will 
do very well if you don’t worry about him.” 

Gilbert was quite elated at the prospects of his 
new speculation, and his brilliant spirits were po- 
tent in the house. He was too busy to notice little 
inconveniences, he slept in the sitting room and was 


DIYORCE. 


277 


either Tinconscious of, or indifferent to the baby’s 
fretfnlness. So long as Gilbert did not complain of 
being annoyed by it, Constance bore it patiently 
and easily. It had to be, and in spite of it, the 
child was growing stronger, very imperceptibly to 
others, but to Constance very decidedly. It moved 
its tiny limbs with ease and much more frequency, 
it nursed with greater vigor, its little hands grasped 
her fingers with added power in their touch. 

Constance was in ecstasies — she would have her 
child. 

Dr. Johnstone smiled at her persistency, but was 
still cautious in his encouragement. She made him 
admit that so far she had been admirable in every 
particular, just to herself, and yet devoted to the 
baby. 

But at the end of six or eight weeks Gilbert had 
more leisure to think of his personal requirements, 
and he protested against his secondary position in 
the house. 

“Everything,” he declared, at length, “had given 
way to the baby ! ” 

Constance was surprised but not alarmed. Of 
course, Gilbert was sensible and good-natured. 
Night after night she watched her baby and listened 
to it cry until she feared that it would gasp away 


278 


DIVORCE. 


its last breath in sheer exhaustion. But there be- 
ing no help for it, she said, gently, “Gilbert, you 
couldn’t sleep in the room with the baby.” 

“Why can’t you give it some syrup? The others 
never cried.” 

“I know it; neither were they drugged with 
opiates.” 

“But how long is this going to last?” 

“I suppose until he gets strong. It is nervous- 
ness. Dr. Johnstone says I am doing the best for 
him that is possible. How would you like to walk 
up and down the room with him at night ? ” she 
asked, playfully. “It would be quite a new experi- 
ence, Gilbert.” 

“Yes, I should say so. I don’t covet it! Nothing 
could be more wearing upon you — ” 

“Oh, yes, anxiety would be far worse — The 
baby is really gaining, Gilbert — he cries louder, I 
think, every night.” 

He looked at her intently, and read a paper for 
some time. Constance had brought her work down 
to the cosy library, the table was spread with maps 
and books, the logs were blazing on the andirons, 
and Gilbert had the air of a man who basks in the 
sunshine of gratified desires. 

Constance wondered why he could not be satis- 


DIVORCE. 


279 


fied witli tilings as tliey were, and let her devote her- 
self to the child for a few months, particularly as 
the devotion was not injuring her, but rather stilling 
the reproaches of her conscience. 

But she said nothing, and he read on for an hour 
vdthout recurring to the topic. Then he took it up, 
a habit with him, exactly where it had been left off. 

“If the child is so much stronger, then some- 
thing can be done to relieve you. There is no rea- 
son why you should sacrifice your health as a 
drudge to an infant of eight weeks. Your life is 
valuable — ” He stopped abruptly. 

Constance in alarm put her sewing down and paid 
attention. 

“You will have to send the child up stairs.” 

“Oh, Gilbert!” 

“I am perfectly serious. It can be fed like other 
children, or, if you are opposed to that, you can get 
a wet nurse for him. But the present system must 
be ended.” His tone was kind, but decided. 

“Gilbert you haven’t considered — ” 

“Yes, I have — I might as well have no wife. You 
come down to breakfast, haggard after a sleepless 
night, you are tired when I come home in the even- 
ings, you haven’t touched the piano since the child 
was born. You won’t go out, you are not able to 


280 


DIVORCE. 


entertain, and this thing is to go on no one knows 
for how long ! Why, in three months you will be so 
worn out that you wull be obliged to give up nurs- 
ing him.” 

Constance sat still, unable to speak; sick and 
faint with the dread of giving her child to another’s 
care, utterly disappointed. Gilbert looked at her 
and read despair in every feature, her physical 
weakness was apparent in the drooping lines of her 
figure. She made no effort to move, she was ashy 
pale, her lips and hands trembled. 

Gilbert stood up and began walking up and down 
the room, perplexed and impatient, then he spoke 
forcibly: “I cannot understand how you can shut 
your eyes to everybody but the child ! I give you 
credit for the best intentions, you blame yourself 
for the child’s condition. You forget that others 
were also to blame.” 

‘‘Yes, my child is the victim of others’ follies,” 
she muttered. 

“I admit it; but isn’t one victim enough? Must 
you be sacrificed! We cannot undo one wrong by 
committing another. Instead of recurring to what 
is past and over, why not try to forget it, and pre- 
vent its ill effects upon us now ? Why, that child is 
a constant reproach to me, and now you are com- 


DIVORCE. 


281 


mencing to be the same tiling. Wlij, only yester- 
day, I was asked if I was going to let you kill your- 
self by inches ! People look upon me as a tyrant or 
an ignorant fool ! You must remember, Constance, 
that if the child troubles you and exacts your care, 
you are something to me! Why, it is depressing to 
see you look as you do. You may not believe it, 
but you are not just to* yourself or to me. You are 
over conscientious, and you have made up your 
mind to give up every thing to save the baby’s 
life—” 

“And am I not responsible, Gilbert? I injured 
him — If I can nurse him and take such care of 
him that he will grow strong, why then I shall feel 
happy again — ” her voice was husky and broken. 

“Exactly, you’ve laid out your path of duty, it 
looks to you morally right, and your motherly in- 
stincts are all involved in carrying out your plan. 
Because I attempt to interfere with it, you give way 
to a host of imaginary terrors and let your emotions 
run away with your common-sense. Now, I propose 
to give the child every possible chance for life, and 
at the same time take care of my wife. I see all 
sides. I have some few claims upon you, so have 
Bertie and Jessie. If you think I am going to sit 
still and see you wear yourself out, from an exag- 


282 


DIVORCE. 


gerateci sense of duty, you are quite mistaken. I’ll 
see Dr. Jolinstone to-morrow and have a talk with 
him.” 

‘‘But he — he says that I am able to nurse the 
baby.” 

“Well, it doesn’t interfere with his comfort, and 
the opinion makes you happy. I’m not satisfied!” 

Constance looked at him, deemed about to speak^ 
then controlling herself, was silent. He had caught 
the expression of her eyes, and he stopped in front 
of her, speaking harshly : 

“ Why don’t you say what you think ! Why don’t 
you tell me that I am cruel and selfish? You know 
you think so.” She spoke with hesitation : 

“I don’t really think that you intend to be 
either.” 

“Why, then, do you look at me as if I were your 
worst enemy ? I never before saw a wicked look in 
your eyes.” 

“ Oh, then, why do you cause it by treating me so 
harshly ! ” 

She flushed and spoke with a great effort. “You 
do not know how I feel ; you cannot 1 If you had 
made up your mind to do a thing with all your 
heart and soul, would you like to be ordered to give 
up your efforts ? ” 


DIVORCE. 


283 


“Ordered, Constance! I thought I was reason- 
ing with jon.” 

“ But you gave me no choice. I am to accept 
your decision. It is a command in disguise.” 

“Then you are going to do as I tell you, although 
you do not agree with me as to the wisdom of the 
action. You question my motives, and doubt the 
results. Well, selfish actions have often been pro- 
ductive of good to others. I’ll take every advan- 
tage of your obedience — you know you are submit- 
ting from a sense of duty, you have no confidence 
in my judgment as to what is best for both you and 
the child — and I’ll wait and see if in a short time 
you will not admit that I knew best. You are al- 
ways ready to acknowledge it when you have been 
unjust to me. Now, suppose, instead of sitting 
brooding over this idea, and calling up evil results, 
you make up your mind to see the bright side of it. 
If you will exert your will you can do it. You can 
imagine the child doing better with a nurse who has 
no nerves, no emotions ; a specimen materialist who 
will eat, drink, and sleep, laugh and be wholly una- 
ware of the signs that trouble you from morning 
until night. Your fears reacting on your physical 
strength are really making you delicate and retard- 
ing the child’s growth. A woman of your tempera- 


284 


DIVOKCE. 


ment sliould be in perfect health to nurse a frail 
child with any success. If you think I do not 
know what I am saying, take one of these books 
and read for yourself. There is nothing so depress- 
ing and so exhausting as mental anxiety.” 

‘'I know that, Gilbert, only too well. I have 
been doing my best to grow strong, to get over my 
nervousness I thought I was succeeding — 

“ The strain is too continuous, there is no let up 
to it, night nor day. There is no elasticity about 
you, you never run to meet me, now, you walk slowly, 
your head droops, you are taking the best method 
possible to become permanently delicate and pre- 
maturely aged.” 

“ Suppose we were too poor to have a nurse for 
the child.” 

“I should certainly think of you first. No, Con- 
stance, if you want me to take an interest in the 
child’s life, you must show yourself capable of being 
guided by common-sense, not emotional impulse. 
You are making a god of an idea, and the god is 
just as false a one as the ordinary gods of life are. 
The situation would work up well in a poem, but 
indeed it takes all comfort out of our life. If you 
will promise me not to fret over this thing I wiU let 
you go to the mountains’ this Summer.” 


DIVORCE. 


285 


“ I don’t want a bribe to do wliat is right. If you 
think the baby will be better for the change, I am 
willing — perfectly willing to do what you say.” 

She stood up, took her work and left the room. 
Gilbert noticed how slight she was, how very fair and 
delicate, and her step, as he had told her, was 
changed. She had just surprised and perplexed 
him. Her self-control was inexplicable. She was 
becoming a reasoning creature. He wished she had 
been more emotional, that she had given words to 
the indignant anger that had flashed from her eyes, 
that she had cried out her despair in a burst of pas- 
sionate tears. He would have known how to soothe 
her. But she had listened gravely to his concluding 
remarks, and answered him quietly with her great 
eyes fixed earnestly on his. 

The child’s welfare was a more important matter 
than her personal feelings. Her heart’s desire should 
not be gratified if there was a single doubt in her 
mind that she might be doing it at the expense of 
the child’s health. 

His victory gave him no pleasure, it had been too 
easily won. 

He liked the conflict of human natures, he enjoyed 
a hotly-contested battle with all the passions arrayed 
in the struggle ; there was an intense, inward excite- 


286 


DIVORCE. 


mer^ in overpowering them one. by one, until the 
adversary owned his might, and sued for terms and 
mercy. 

It was impossible to triumph over a woman who 
only asked to be shown the right, to be lovingly 
warned; who put self aside if it interfered with 
another’s^ welfare. Perhaps her rapid submission 
was due to her lack of physical strength. He grew 
curious about it, she was a charming, wonderful 
study. 

After going up-stairs he waited some time for her 
to come to him. She had got into the habit of going 
to the sitting-room every night to look after his 
comforts. Her delay made him impatient, he hesi- 
tated for some time, and then went through the 
middle room to the bedroom. Constance was sitting 
before the fire. Her hair was loose on her should- 
ers, the baby was lying on her breast, nursing slowly, 
its eyes raised to hers. The love in hers startled 
her husband. He sat down and watched her 
silently, with curious sensations stealing over him. 
He thought he realized what submission cost her. 

“My God!” he thought, “a sickly infant can win 
a look that she never gave me — never I ” 

Then her eyes turned on him, but the expression 
he coveted was fading out of them, leaving them 


DIYOKCE. 


287 


tender and misty with its afterglow. She spoke 
caressingly : 

“Gilbert, did you miss me? baby wakened and 
kept me. He is very quiet to-night. Perhaps — ” 
she shook her head and sighed. “No, it would be 
a risk.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I was just thinking whether your plan is neces- 
sary. I am anxious now to try it.” 

Her eyes again glowed ; she bent oyer the child 
and kissed its eyes and head. 

“ Constance, you like that child better than you 
do me!” 

She started, rose quietly and put the baby on 
the bed. Then she came back to the fire-place and 
held out her hands to her husband. 

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered. “Oh, 
Gilbert, I feel so happy! I have been looking at 
the bright side! I can see the wisdom of your 
argument. How long do you suppose it will be 
before he shows the effects of the change ?” 

“I’m sure I have no idea on the subject! I wish 
you would cease worrying about him and think 
of me ! ” 

Constance had her head on his shoulder. She 


288 


DIVOECE. 


looked straight in liis eyes, surprised at the angry 
light in them. 

What is it, Gilbert ? I do think of you — ” 

“Oh, I don’t mean that; I’m talking of love. 
Xou don’t love me as you did ! ” 

“ I don’t know what you mean.” 

“What! have you never felt jealousy?” 

“ Of what ?” 

He laughed curiously, and turned her face to his. 

“ Of me — of my regard for others.” 

“Why, no ; why should I?” 

“ Our natures differ. I’m jealous — of that child 
there — of Bertie — ” 

“Oh, Gilbert ! what would you do if you had any 
real cause to feel so ?” 

She spoke playfully, but with the indifference 
natural to the absurdity of the fancy. 

“ I’d murder you ! ” 

Constance shivered and shrank from him, alarmed 
at the passion in his eyes and voice. Then she put 
her arms around his neck and kissed him. His 
features softened. 

“Talk of something else,” she whispered. 

His eyes flashed anger. 

“ So my love wearies you,” he said moodily. 

Constance sighed. 


DIVOllCE. 


289 


“ Your love, Gilbert ! Oli, no ! but jealousy is no 
proof of it.” 

“ So then, when you grow jealous of me, I can 
iinderstand that your love for me is waning.” 

She kissed him gently. 

“ I shall not blame you if you do.” 


xvn. 


Constance did not fully comprehend her hus- 
band’s speculations. He boasted to her of great 
successes which generally resulted from his shrewd- 
ness and foresight. He looked, talked and acted 
like a man who was carried on fortune’s tide. He 
wanted every luxury that the world affords, and 
seemed qualified to gain and enjoy them. By de- 
grees their expenses increased to a yearly amount 
that would have excited his wife’s fears as to its 
consistency had he not forestalled them by explain- 
ing that he was not spending their income. True, 
she still had no personal control of money, but she 
had everything that money buys. She had an ele- 
gant home, thorough servants, and friends and ac- 
quaintances without end, and as Gilbert’s love for 
society kept pace with all his other loves, Constance 
never found time to borrow trouble. She could 
scarcely grasp all the pleasures that were offered to 
290 


DIVORCE. 


291 


her through her husband’s ordering of her life. 
She had never coveted them, she would have pre- 
ferred more time to be with her children, she would 
have liked more of Gilbert’s society without the 
friends that he drew about her sharing its pleas- 
ures ; but she found happiness in securing his, and 
never questioned his superior judgment, or his right 
to carry out his own schemes of life. He seemed 
to have with him the gift of success. 

In the child’s case, his advice had been wise, in 
fact, it was in his wife’s mind one great proof of Gil- 
bert’s infallibility. The child had thrived apace, 
and was now a little image of health and beauty, 
and she had regained her strength with surprising 
rapidity. 

Life now seemed to broaden and deepen beyond 
any capacity within her to reach its demands. She 
would be, she felt, perfectly helpless without Gil- 
bert’s aid and advice. He still exacted from her 
the devotion and attention that his nature craved, 
and she had four children, each a problem in itself 
demanding thought, needing personal care, causing 
her at times absorbing anxiety and interest. 

Her children ! they were so young, yet in their 
youth lay her opportunity. Duties, responsibilities 
and possibilities crowded upon her. She had 


292 


DIVORCE. 


schemes, but it was difficult at times to reduce her 
theories to practice. One of her pet ideas was to 
keep her children with her while they were yet 
children, she wanted them to be educated at home. 

To her utter surprise when she proposed engag- 
ing Florence to teach Bertie, who was now seven, 
Gilbert at once refused to entertain the idea. 

The boy should go to school. 

For the first time in years Constance realized the 
strength of her own character, its tenacity of pur- 
pose. Coaxing was not one of her qualities. She 
could oppose with reason or submit in silence, to 
ask a favor was wholly foreign to her nature. Gil- 
bert gave her an opportunity to reason with him. 

“I’ve read as much as you have on the subject,” 
he said carelessly. “ I know all the modern opinions 
of scientists and'physicians. If the boy were deli- 
cate or inclined to be so, it would be another mat- 
ter. But he is as strong as a young lion and he can 
take the chances, as other boys do.” 

“ So far, Gilbert, we have done everything in our 
power to keep the children perfectly healthy, why 
risk undoing the work of years ? The confinement 
is bad enough, and I dislike emulation among child- 
ren, it injures them, but you know that no school- 
room can be properly ventilated, and it would never 


DIVOKCE. 


293 


do to have Bertie breathing poisonous air for so 
many hours in a day. When he is older, he can go 
to a small school, but he should be fitted to enter 
an advanced class before he leaves home.” 

“ Why, Constance, other people are as fond of 
their children as you are of yours.” 

“ They may not know what a child risks. You 
told me the other day that I read things that other 
women did not notice in the periodicals. The fact 
of knowing increases the responsibility with us.” 

“ I should think you would be glad to get such a 
noisy chap out of your way for five hours out of the 
twenty-four.” 

“ He is never in my way, Gilbert.” 

“Well, it is time for him to commence. Look at 
the advertisements, visit some of the schools in the 
neighborhood and see what you think of them, get 
the circulars. You see, it will only cost a few dol- 
lars a year to send him to school, but to engage a 
private teacher for him will be quite an item. Did 
you think of that ?” 

Constance looked up, but Gilbert although talk- 
ing so coolly, was industriously arranging business 
memoranda in a large wallet, and avoided meeting 
her glance. 

“ Why, of course, I know it will be more expen- 


294 


DIVOBCE. 


sive to have the children taught at home, but if we 
can afford it — ” 

“ I don’t know that we can — that is, I don’t know 
that it would be advisable to undertake new ex- 
penses just now. We have so many calls upon us.” 

“ But surely Gilbert, if we can keep a carriage we 
can afford to have our children educated as we 
think best. It is not very consistent to send Bertie 
to school for economy, and spend all the money 
that we do upon dress and entertainments. I would 
prefer doing the most important thing first — ” 

“ What, sacrifice some of the comforts that belong 
to our position for the sake of teaching a child the 
rudiments — ?” 

“We might economize in certain things, luxuries 
for instance, and give him the benefit of it. I caii 
wear less expensive dresses, Gilbert — indeed, I 
would do anything that was reasonable for the sake 
of giving the children every advantage. It is not 
just to squander money on people who care nothing 
for us and deprive the children of its benefits.” 

“ You have made a regular hobby of this idea, I 
think, and you let it run away with you — ” He af- 
fected a bantering manner, but Constance was 
thoroughly in earnest. 

“Oh, no, Gilbert, it is not a hobby, it is a prin- 


DIYORCE. 


295 


ciple. Wliat concerns the children’s welfare is 
mnch more important to me than mere personal 
luxuries, and as far as society is in question, I saw 
exactly what its value was in my mother’s case. I 
like to know certain persons, but I would never sac- 
rifice a single family claim or duty to them.” 

“ That is right enough — Well, in a year from now, 
perhaps you can put your -plan in operation, but for 
the present I cannot undertake extra expenses.” 

He was leaving the room, Constance had a bright 
thought. 

Gilbert, why not give me some of the interest of 
the money that you invested for me, and let me 
educate the babies with it ? I am sure I could 
manage it very sensibly.” 

Gilbert stared at her. 

“ What do you mean — Constance ?” 

“Why, don’t you remember just after pa’s death, 
you said you would always put back in some safe 
securities, the amount that each piece of property 
brought ?” 

Gilbert looked puzzled and then confused. 

“Your idea was to keep the principle as pa left it 
to me, and let the interest go with it for the child- 
ren. It would be perfectly fair to use it for their 
education.” 


296 


DIVORCE. 


“ Yes, yes, I remember — ” He flushed and 
turned to the door, speaking impatiently. “Well, 
we’ll think about it. Come, Constance, it’s nearly 
seven o’clock. We’ll have to hurry.” 

Constance sat still, sick with disappointment and 
inexplicable dread. Was it possible that Gilbert 
had never carried out his voluntary promise ? He 
had spoken so decidedly, had declared so persist- 
ently that he would never risk her money, that he 
would only borrow it and return both princij)al and 
interest. She had taken it for granted that he had 
kept his word. 

Everything that was hers had been sold, with the 
exception of the house they lived in ; and Gilbert 
had often shown her, on paper, the amounts of 
money that he had made by one speculation and 
invested in another. To believe his own words, he 
had trebled the original capital. Yet she knew 
intuitively, by his face and manner, that the special 
investments — the safe ones that were to secure her 
future and the children’s, and satisfy her family in 
case he should fail in his schemes — had never been 
made. 

Constance believed in the sacredness of a promise. 
She had always trusted implicitly to her husband’s 
integrity of purpose. Had she been asked the 


DIVORCE. 


297 


question, she would have said at once that her 
money was safe, not that she had thought of it, or 
contemplated trying to preserve it ; but simply that 
her husband had been more careful of her interests 
than she knew how to be, and that he had been too 
scrupulous, too honorable, to take advantage of her 
generosity and indifference to money. The greater 
disappointment had swallowed up the lesser one. 
Bertie covdd wait, but what was she to think of 
Bertie’s father ? What excuse could she find in her 
heart for him? What explanation would he offer 
for himself? She sat on, bewildered, humiliated by 
the doubts that assailed her. 

A servant knocked at the door. Mr. Travers had 
sent her down to tell Mrs. Travers the hour. Con- 
stance went up-stairs, past her own room, where she 
could hear Gilbert whistling, up to the nursery. The 
children were asleep. She kissed them, and sat for 
some minutes by the infant’s crib. He was a large, 
strong child, and Gilbert had shown unusual inter- 
est in him from his birth. He had called him 
Dudley, after an admired partner in his specula- 
tions, and surprised his wife by this novel partiality 
for one of his children. Johnny he seldom noticed, 
although ho had once said that if Constance would 
give up nursing him, he would take more interest 


298 


DIVORCE. 


in liim. Anotlier broken promise ! Constance was 
dismayed at the association of ideas. The sight of 
the children was not breaking the current of her 
thoughts, nor softening the lines of her face. She 
felt stunned ; she knew she was pale ; that her 
features were set and rigid. 

She waited a few seconds in the hall, and then 
went down to the sitting-room. Gilbert was in 
evening dress ; his gloves were on the table ; he was 
walking back and forth, recalling a piece that he 
was to recite during the evening. He was uttering 
in a clear, smooth tone a fine sentiment about 
honor — 

“Honor’s a sacred tie — the law of kings, 

The noble mind’s distinguishing perfection.” 

Constance passed quickly through the room — if 
he saw her face he would read her thoughts. She 
knew that it would do him harm if he read a doubt 
of him in them. Her own room was dark, she stood 
at the bureau, conscious only of this one dire neces- 
sity, not to let him feel that her faith in his truth 
and honor had wavered for a second. 

He came through the room, speaking impatiently. 

“ Constance, what is the delay? You know these 
people are always on time, and I particularly wish 


DIVOECE. 


299 


to hear the first essay. We’ll miss part of it if you 
don’t hurry. Can I help you?” 

‘‘I wish you w'ould go without me,” she said. ‘'I 
don’t think I can be ready in time — ” 

‘‘You know I won’t go without you, Constance. 
I never go to Mrs. Whiting’s without you — never! 
Do you feel ill?” 

“ Oh, no.” 

“Well, what is wrong then? I don’t understand 
you.” 

He turned up the light as he spoke, and looked 
in her face. 

“H’m, so you’re angry with me! Well, you are a 
curious woman ! I told you I would think over that 
matter, and you look as if I had broken your heart. 
Your ideas and whims become a part of yourself ; 
you cannot get rid of them once you have adopted 
them. You knew I was anxious to go out this 
evening; that I expected to enjoy it, and you sit 
down quietly to make yourself miserable instead of 
thinking of me.” 

He walked up and down, glancing angrily at her 
from time to time. Constance began taking off her 
dress. 

“Well, what are you going to do — dress 
yourself?” 


300 


DIYOKCE. 


“Yes; my hair is fixed; it will not take me very 
long to put my things on.” 

He sprang up with a sigh of relief. 

“I’ll send Susan to help you, shall I? I think 
the carriage is at the door.” 

“Well.” 

When he came back Constance was putting on 
her ornaments. Her dress was his purchase, and 
was made to suit his taste. The black velvet under- 
dress, with its long train, fitted her figure to a 
degree of perfection that satisfied Gilbert’s difficult 
standard, and it was covered with an overdress of 
delicate yellow lace, and lightened with diamonds. 
He looked at her critically ; re-arranged some folds 
of the lace, and put her warm wrap on her. She 
was deathly white ; her eyes were dilated and unna- 
turally bright ; her lips were brilliant ; her pretty 
hair was most becomingly dressed. In the carriage 
he put his arm over her shoulders and turned her 
face to his. 

“ I never saw you look so beautiful as you do to- 
night, Constance,” he kissed her. “You grow 
handsomer all the time.” She flushed and her fea- 
tures softened, but her heart was like lead in her 
breast. She might have returned his compliment 
in all truth, but at that moment had she for one 


DIVOBCE. 


301 


second relaxed her self-control she would have 
found relief in passionate tears and moans. For the 
first time her husband’s admiration failed to gratify 
her, she owed it to her physical beauty. He either 
could not or would not read her mind, and her suc- 
cess in concealing her thoughts from him, brought 
with it a certain disappointment. He had credited 
her simply with the ill temper of thwarted desires. 
His unconsciousness was inexplicable. Could she 
have been wrong in her suspicions and conclusions ? 
She felt she was right in them, yet she would have 
given anything to believe that she had been entirely 
mistaken. To ask would be to admit the presence 
of a doubt. His light-heartedness -was increasing, 
her doubts grew more bewildering. His caresses 
made her tremble, he thought with delight, for she 
colored and her eyes were downcast, but Constance 
felt the moral repulsion shocking her whole being 
with its force. 

Their appearance in Mrs. Whiting’s crowded 
rooms had all the effect that Gilbert desired. His 
wife did him credit, and yet took nothing from him 
in any sense. The Misses Leavitt had matched en- 
gagement rings about the same time and had been 
married in the fall just past. Constance sat with 
them while the literary amateurs present read their 


302 


DIVOUCE. 


papers and complimented each other on the amount 
of research and thought contained in them. Mrs. 
Whiting was still improving herself intellectually, 
and was now devoted to literary and scientific peo- 
ple and their pursuits. People forgot to speak of 
her as Mrs. Maude Leavitt. 

“What a God-send Maude must be to some of 
these people !” Daisy Sedley remarked to Con- 
stance. “These evenings give them such oppor- 
tunities to find appreciation for their mental gifts. 
When does your husband find time to write essays ? 
I thought he was absorbed in stocks and business.” 

“ That is a beautiful essay, Daisy,” said Cora. “ I 
wish Mr. Marchant had some ambition in that direc- 
tion ! I know he could write if he would make the 
effort.” She turned to him as he slowly approached. 
“ I think you might show what you can do, and pre- 
pare a paper on something or another to read here !” 
He smiled lazily. 

“I’m satisfied to swell the delighted audience. I 
came to congratulate Mrs. Travers on her husband’s 
paper. It is the finest I ever heard on that subject.” 
He sank into a chair near Constance and discussed 
it with her. “ I suppose you know it by heart,” he 
said. 


DIVORCE. 


303 


“Parts of it. Mr. Travers reads to me as lie 
writes.” 

There was an nnconscious lack of enthusiasm in 
her voice that was perceptible to her hearers. 

“ Where did he get the idea for the title?” asked 
Daisy. 

“ Out of Milton,” said Constance. “ He refers to 
a certain kind of a woman as an “uncomplying dis- 
cord of Nature,” and Gilbert thought that the ex- 
pression would make a good title for his essay.” 

Later in the evening Mr. Travers was invited to 
sing. Mrs. Whiting had mislaid the particular song 
that he wanted and she could not play the accom- 
paniment without the music. Daisy saw this 
dilemma and said aloud and slowly : 

“ Why Mrs. Travers knows that accompaniment.” 

“Well, won’t she play it?” asked several pathetic 
voices. 

Ignorant of this slight drawback, Constance felt 
surprised and pleased when Gilbert came to her 
with his off-hand, “ Do you think you can get 
through ‘ Schubert’s Barcarolle ’ from memory ?” 

“ Oh, yes,” she said, rising and taking his arm. 
They made quite a picture at the piano. Gilbert’s 
annoyance did not affect his voice, and Constance 
played well from habit. She had no self-conscious- 


304 


DIVORCE. 


ness to induce nervousness, her thoughts were ab- 
:stracted, far away, she could not concentrate them 
u3n what she was doing. Her fingers glided over 
the keys and Gilbert sang on — of rest, of peace, of 
the mysterious infiuences of Nature appealing to 
the soul of man. How beautifully he sang ! with 
what expression! with what perfection of phrasing! 
He had ?illuded as powerfully to honor, in his spoken 
.piece, as if he not only meant but felt in his own 
personal experience the beauty and truth of all that 
his lips uttered. 

Hid he so feel it ? Was she unjust to him ? dis- 
loyal even in permitting herself to weigh the ques- 
tion mentally ? She finished, and let him take her 
to a seat quite unconscious of her triumph, of the 
surprise occasioned by her short exhibition of an 
accomplishment that few credited her with possess- 
ing. 

Her doubts came back at intervals to trouble her. 
Hays passed, and Gilbert avoided the subject of 
money and made no allusion to Bertie’s education. 
Constance felt too much to trust herself to speak of 
either to him, but she missed his expected sym- 
pathy keenly. 

One morning, having forgotten some papers he 
returned for them and found Constance and Bertie 


DIVORCE. 


at tlie table in the library. Bertie had a copy-book 
before him in which he was making very creditable 
curved lines, and Constance was "watching him with 
interest, her eyes beaming with satisfaction. 

Gilbert looked, understood, shook his head at her, 
collected his papers, and left the room. She fol- 
lowed him into the hall. 

‘‘ Yon didn’t tell me that you would burden your- 
self with such a task, Constance. I don’t like it at 
all. You used to be candid with me.” She flushed 
painfully. 

“ It is a pleasure, Gilbert ! I had no idea that 
theje could be so much pleasure in teaching, and I 
only spend an hour every morning with him. I 
don’t miss the time, and he is really learning rap- 
idly. I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t think that 
I could teach a child. It is an experiment. I 
wanted to succeed a little before speaking of it. 
You know you said that perhaps I could have 
Florence next year.” 

“ Well — I think you can.” 

“ If I could manage it, I think I would rather 
teach the children altogether. I’m sure it would 
repay me — ” 

“ I’m very glad that you can’t manage anything 
of the kind. You have quite enough to do as it is. 


306 


DIVORCE. 


If you want to please me, you will send Bert to 
school. That is the proper place for him.” 

She did not answer him, but she looked so 
troubled that he put his arms around her and kissed 
her. 

“Well — for the present, do as you please with 
him.” 


XYill. 


A few months after this, the firm in which Mr. 
Travers was employed became involved in business, 
and finally failed. Constance felt a vague sense of 
alarm when she knew that Gilbert was out of employ- 
ment, and would have to seek for a similar position to 
•the one he had held for so many years. Gilbert, on 
the other hand, wondered at her for troubling herself 
about the matter. It did not worry him. He could 
easily get another position — easily. The only pre- 
caution necessary for him to use was to take his 
time, and look about him before accepting one of 
the many vacancies that would be open to him. 
He was not in any hurry. He had all his specula- 
tions to attend to, and they were absorbing and 
profitable. Weeks passed, and months, and the 
position was not obtained. Gilbert was not going 
to accept a salary inferior to the last he had been 
earning. That, he said, would be suicidal, and 


307 


308 


DIVORCE. 


besides, there was no necessity for it. He could 
afford to wait for what he wanted. 

Constance listened and believed. Gilbert was 
active and elated ; he travelled a great deal between 
New York and Boston and Philadelphia. Gradu- 
ally his ideas in regard to pursuing his legitimate 
business seemed to occupy his mind less and less, 
and his ambition to speculate increased in corres- 
ponding proportions. 

He insisted that he was doing better in a financial 
way than was possible in his old employment. He 
could not understand why Constance would prefer 
him to be buried in an office all day, working for a 
mere living, when fortunes could be made in a few 
months, if a man had time to devote to the neces- 
sary details. 

Thoughts of money did not trouble Constance. 
She was first surprised and then alarmed at the 
effects that this new occupation was responsible 
for. 

The genius of irritable unrest had taken posses- 
sion of her happy home, and was slowly working its 
evil way into everything. Gilbert’s habits were 
changing, and his temper was as variable as the 
wind. He now went to bed when he liked, arose 
late, dawdled away his mornings in the library, and 


DIVORCE. 


309 


went down town as often as liis business engage- 
ments required bis presence there. 

He had no regular hours, and he always needed 
his wife’s time and attention. To wait upon his 
fancies without neglecting her children, taxed Con- 
stance to the utmost degree. But “a merry heart 
goes all the day,^’ and youth and health combined 
with love and trust will stand unlimited wear and 
tear. Still, Constance would not admit that the 
present was an improvement upon the past. She 
enjoyed order, and had been too long accustomed 
to it to see any charm in its absence from domestic 
life. 

Gilbert could not understand how his method of 
living should upset a household. When the cook 
of six years’ standing gave warning because “no girl 
could have breakfast going on until dinner time, and 
supper all night,” he was furious. He offered her 
higher wages, which she indignantly refused. 
“It wasn’t the money, it was the worry and the 
confusion.” 

Gilbert did not think of altering his ways, so she 
left, and a very inferior servant agreed to fill the 
position at advanced rates. Internal discomforts 
did not affect the smooth surface of existence ; they 
ran too deep. Constance might look at times worn 


310 


DIYORCE. 


and tliin. Everyone knew that in appearance Mr. 
and Mrs. Travers w^ere contrasts. Mrs. Sedley called 
them ‘'the soul and body of the concern.” 

For a long time Constance realized the strain on 
her own nerves, caused by Gilbert’s changing moods, 
without appreciating what led to them. He was 
not communicative. He expected her to be patient 
with him, and sympathetic, but he would tolerate 
no questions. Women could not understand busi- 
ness. It was enough for him to be anxious, and 
often troubled. She could do nothing, even if she 
did comprehend fluctuations in stocks, and the con- 
tinuous mental excitement that he was subjected to 
in consequence of them. 

Sometimes he talked economy ; but measures 
decidedly economical are very perceptible, and Con- 
stance in vain proposed her plans for cutting down 
domestic expenses. 

It would never do for people to suspect that he 
was not doing as well as usual. The depression in 
stocks which affected their income was only a tem- 
porary thing ; there was no necessity for publishing 
their affairs, when within a few months they would 
be better off than ever. 

This sounded sensible ; but as the months went 


DIVORCE. 


311 


by, and tbe lionse bills were left unsettled, Con- 
stance grew nneasy. 

It was impossible to satisfy eager creditors with a 
recital of Gilbert’s brilliant prospects in the future. 
His hopes would not repay them for the money 
they were out of pocket in supplying his costly 
table ; they believed in a cash system, and a savings 
bank for honest, well-earned profits. Silver moun- 
tains in the far West loom up grandly enough in 
the imagination, but they are rather impracticable 
when a grocer wants his pay for eaten bread and 
butter in coined metal. 

Gilbert left his house every day elegantly dressed, 
strong and buoyed up with his sanguine hopes, and 
thus faced the mountain, and his thoughts dwelt on 
its concealed treasures. 

Constance stayed at home and faced her long- 
suffering trades-people, and found no comfort in 
dreams. Their politeness was, to her, the keenest 
reproach. They trusted her because they believed 
in her uprightness, and promptly filled orders that 
she gave with hesitating speech and inward dread. 
Gilbert would not let her economize in the matter 
of luxuries for the table, and they entertained more 
than ever. 

One night Constance spoke. Gilbert had just 


312 


DIVORCE. 


shut the door on a party of five gentlemen who had 
been dining with him. He came up to the sitting- 
room laughing to himself. Constance was practic- 
ing a little piece of private economy — she was rip- 
ping up a white dress of her own to make slips for 
the children, but it occurred to her, as the voices 
from the dining-room rang out in hearty laughter, 
that her efforts to save money were futile, unless 
Gilbert w^ould help her by working in the same 
direction. 

“Sewing at this hour?” he said, lightly. “I 
thought you were asleep,” 

He sat down on the lounge. 

“I wasn’t sewing, I was only ripping.” 

“ Kipping !” he repeated. “What are you doing 
that for ? ” 

She explained. He laughed heartily. 

“Do you call that economy?” 

“Well, isn’t it? I can do without the dress, and 
the children need new ones. It saves a few dollars, 
and you know the old saying, Hake care of the 
pence.’ I thought you would encourage me, instead 
of laughing at my attempts to save money.” She 
spoke' playfully, but her heart was heavy. 

“I’m not laughing at that, what amuses me is the 
practical vein in your composition. I didn’t give 


DIVORCE. 


313 


you credit for it. I’ve talked economy, I know, but 
I didn’t suppose that you were going to understand 
what I said so literally.” 

“Why, Gilbert, you spoke as if you meant it.” 

He did not answer her, but sat looking at his 
clasped hands. Constance rose impulsively, sat on 
his knees, and put her arms around his neck. 

“Gilbert, do you feel worried about me? I am 
willing to economise in any and every way — ” 

“You don’t know what you are saying. You 
know nothing about economy. Anyhow — w’^e need- 
n’t fret about it. Everything is brightening now 
— in a few weeks or months we’ll have more 
money than we can use.” 

Constance felt her heart sink. “In a few weeks 
or months ” had lost its significance, it seemed to 
her now to mean time unlimited. Gilbert was in a 
day-dream. She sighed, and put her face close to 
his, speaking gently, earnestly. 

“Gilbert — I don’t like this way of living. You 
must not do what is not strictly right on my ac-. 
count. I am not afraid of economy. It seems to 
me that we are — doing wrong — keeping up appear- 
ances, in fact, instead of living honestly on what we 
have to spend.” 

He moved uneasily and shook his head. 


314 


DIVORCE. 


“Why do you talk so to me!” 

“Because, Gilbert, I want you to understand me, 
to believe just what I saj. I always despised peo- 
ple who lived beyond their means, always ! I hate 
-Avhat is false. I do not want to wear out our life 
trying to appear rich when we have no certain in- 
come — ” 

“Constance you are talking wildly — absurdly — ” 

“Oh, but, Gilbert, if you could realize what this 
way of living costs me — the anxiety — the uncer- 
tainty — the constant strain upon me. Pa didn’t live 
so. I would rather give up ail these things that 
you want me to enjoy — the pleasure in them is all 
gone, because I am not sure that we can ever pay 
for them — ” 

“There, that will do nov^ — ” 

“Oh, don’t get angry with me, Gilbert, You 
know, yourself, that we have no regular income — ” 

“I know nothing of the kind! I know this, that 
I never expected you to speak to me as you are 
doing now. I thought you trusted me — ” 

“I do trust your intentions, Gilbert. But you 
know how very wrong it is to spend money before 
it is earned ; to be in such debt — I wish you had a 
situation — 

“I cannot get one now, Constance. There are 


DIVORCE. 


315 


fifcy applicants for every vacancy that occurs. I 
cm doing tlie best I know liow — the very best pos- 
sible — in a little while I’ll settle all these bills — 
You need not worry over them for a second. Is it 
possible that you have no faith in what I am saying 
— no confidence in me ? ” 

He looked reproachfully at her. Constance trem- 
bled a little, then her eyes met his firmly, clearly. 

“Why do you mistake me, Gilbert? I have con- 
fidence in you, but is it not possible that you may 
have too much faith in these speculations — that you 
are over sanguine about them? Other men have 
been disappointed. If we only had something sure 
every month that we could live quietly upon, while 
we are waiting for this fortune to come ! ” 

“Well, we haven’t any prospect of that kind un- 
less I can get a situation.” 

“Well, at least, Gilbert, we could live less expen- 
sively.” 

“Constance, if you will cease worrying yourself 
about these business matters, which are quite be- 
yond you, and let me manage them, you will save 
yourself a great deal of unnecessary suffering and 
do me an immense favor. I don’t want to be cross 
or rough with you. I tell you things are improving. 
I feel perfectly satisfied as to results, I never felt in 


316 


DIVORCE. 


better lmmor,^ii(I to succeed a man must feel sue- | 
cessful! If I were to let your silly fears -affect me, J 
I wouldn’t bo fit to attend to any business wbat- j 
ever. Gliosts and ravens are not welcome, either | 
abroad, or at home, and to-night, you seem to com- 
bine the properties of both with your own individ- 
uality. Why do you excite and annoy me ! ” She 
had not moved, and he drew her closer to him and 
kissed her white cheeks and tightly shut lips. “ You 
know I have enough outside to contend with, and I 
appreciate the situation and my responsibility thor- 
oughly. I need encouragement from you, and not 
impossible schemes of economy that would destroy 
all my prospects and arouse suspicions as to my hon- 
esty. When we have to give up our social position 
it will be time enough to discuss ways and means. 

If a man wants to fail he has only to look as if he 
feared failure. People judge by appearances. I go 
around town as if I was pocketing large dividends 
every day. The bluer things seem the brighter I 
appear. When I am gay in the house you can feel 
quite sure that matters are going well with me. 
There never was a more lovable creature that you 
are. Dot, but you are so damnably honest! You 
believe in looking the truth, as well as telling it ! 
Eemember what some wiseman said : that ‘ truth is 


DIVOKCE. 


317 


too costly a tiling to be wasted upon everybody.’ 
For my sake, you will have to look and act as if things 
were bright and prosperous. You must give up im- 
agining coming evils! Amuse yourself with what 
concerns you, with your own share of the work, 
and leave the money matters to me. I’ll take care 
of you.” 

He kissed and petted her, and Constance tried to 
look at life through Gilbert’s magnifying glasses, 
but she only saw distorted views of it. Alone with 
her conscience and her principles, she knew that she 
could not change to his standard. Would he try to 
reach her’s ? She hoped so, and time went on. 

One night Constance was awakened by his heavy 
steps in the sitting roam. He had told her that he 
would be out late at a business meeting. Had he 
been disappointed? She knew he was excited by 
his rapid walk back and forth, by the sound of his 
voice, muttering to himself. She was about going 
to him, when he came through the middle room to- 
ward her, and saw by the dim light that she was 
lying awake. Her startled eyes, and the masses of 
loose, fair hair about her face, gave her an unnat- 
ural, weird appearance among the white draperies. 
She looked even less like a creature of flesh and 
blood than when dressed and moving about. Qil- 


318 


DIVOECE. 


bert was flushed and powerfully excited, his cheeks 
were hot, his eyes brilliant, purpose and determina- 
tion showed in every line of his features, in the 
tones of his voice, in the movements of his strong 
frame. 

“ I’m glad you are awake,” he said, bending to 
kiss her. “I want to tell you what I’ve been con- 
cluding to do. I must have money, and the best 
way to get it is to put a mortgage on this house.” 

“ On this house !” 

It was all she could say. Her heart seemed to 
contract, something choked her, then her heart be- 
gan to beat rapidly, she felt hot and cold in turn. 
Gilbei’t was watching her in curious silence. 

“ You don’t like the idea ! Pshaw ! why it is only 
a temporary thing ; just for a few months. If I 
don’t do it I’ll lose thousands of dollars. There is 
some trouble about the mine and everything will be 
at a standstill out there until we raise the money to 
go on with the work. I’ve thought of everything 
and the mortgage is the most feasible of all, in fact 
the only thing that will answer. You’ll agree, won’t 
you ? because there is no time to lose, I need the 
money at once.” 

“ Gilbert — have you considered — ” 

‘‘Yes, everything ! I know all about our circum- 


DIVORCE. 


319 


stances, you know I wouldn’t ask tliis if I didn’t see 
my way clearly to make it all right in a short time. 
Now don’t commence to argue the question ! I’ve 
gone through all the pros and cons myself. I’ve 
been thinking it over for two hours.” 

“ I’d like to think about it. This house seems to 
me so different from other — other pieces of pro-. 
perty— ” 

“I know — I know that— but I’m not going to sell 
it — I’m not going to take it from you— I simply 
want to use it for a little while — ” 

“ I dread mortgages — ” 

‘‘Oh, of course — now you’ll begin to imagine 
everything unpleasant that you can connect with it.” 

“ I certainly have lost faith in that mine, Grilbert. 
It seems to me that it has taken everything and re- 
turned nothing. Why will you put more good 
money into it ? At least I do not think it wise to 
encumber ourselves with a mortgage for its sake.” 

“ Of course, you know better than I do about it. 
Here, I’ve been working like a dog for years at this 
thing, and the moment I see the chance to succeed 
in what I’ve been doing, you try to thwart me and 
put obstacles in the way — ” 

“I, Gilbert!” 

“ Yes, you — I see just how we’re going to make 


;320 


DIVORCE. 


,tlie thing pay, and because you have some senti- 
: mental ideas about mortgages, my hands are to -be 
died. Why men mortgage their houses everyday for 
dhe sake of grasping some advantage in business. 
1 suppose we are the only people we know whose 
house isn’t mortgaged. Well, I thought you would 
be ready to help me, that I had only to tell 3-ou 
my wishes to see you anxious to gratify them — A 
few years ago it would have been different — but, of 
course, I’ve been unfortunate, I haven’t seen results 
as soon as I expected, and you no longer care to 
gratify me as you did — I needn’t hope much from 
friends when my own wife doesn’t trust me. Well, 

. a man learns as he lives — ” 

He went back to the sitting-room. Constance 
was tortured by the struggle going on in her mind. 
IWiat was her duty ? Why did she hesitate to fol- 
low her impulses, and tell Gilbert that he could 
have everything that she owned to do as he pleased 
with ? It was the first time that reason had checked 
impulse. Thoughts of her children — of her father 
— crowded upon her. Her sensible, practical, hon- 
est, large-hearted father ! What proportions he as- 
sumed when contrasted with — She stopped the 
mental process with a great effort. She realized 
fully how proud she had been of her home, her 


DIVORCE. 


321 


fatlier’s gift, tlie security she had felt in knowing 
that it was hers to keep for the children. But sup- 
pose that in refusing her husband’s request she 
should by her own voluntary action turn the scales 
against him ? This might be the supreme moment 
in his career, the tide which taken at the flood 
would lead to fortune. Could she take the respon- 
sibility of causing his failure ? Should she put her 
children’s interests before his — their father’s ? Was 
it right to consider herself in the matter ? her pride 
— her personal comfort ? W^as she losing faith in 
her husband ? “ Oh, no !” her heart answered her, 

“not in him, but she had not his peculiar tempera- 
ment, she could not find happiness in the excite- 
ment of risks and chances.” What different views 
her father had taken of life, and a man’s duties to 
his family ! She knew that her mother had never 
experienced a moment’s anxiety with regard to 
money in all the years of her married life. She 
knew something else — that once — once she had at- 
tributed to her husband, her father’s fine qualities. 
It w^as but natural and right. But this awakening 
to a different conviction, this doubt of Gilbert’s con- 
sideration for her as a woman, as his wife, and the 
mother of his children, was terrible. She shook it 
off — she would not entertain it. The circumstances 


322 


DIVOKCE. 


were different. Gilbert was brought up in different 
surroundings, with dissimilar views and aims. He 
was not to blame for losing his situation, lie had 
tried hard — was ever trying to get another — she 
checked her thoughts again. In her heart she did 
not believe that Gilbert was making any extra efforts 
to find regular employment. On the contrary, she 
knew that he was completely engrossed by his pres- 
ent occupation, that he enjoyed his days, no two of 
which were spent alike, that he craved the compan- 
ionship of men similarly interested, and revelled in 
the methods for pursuing fortune that seemed to 
them most agreeable and practicable. It is pos- 
sible that there is no royal road to learning, but 
every American has a latent faith in a royal road to 
wealth and Mr. Travers’ faith was now in full pro- 
cess of development. Constance saw it clearly, and 
sympathized with her husband’s hopes and efforts if 
not with the aims that they were wasted upon. 
Yes — wasted. To-night she grasped the situation ' 
even while frightened at the evidences of her know- 
ledge presented to her by her rapid thoughts. Once 
when quite a child her father had taken her to see .> 
a lovely cateract in a wild part of Pennsylvania. | 
The scene rose vividly before her now, conscious as ' 
she was of her own misery and of Gilbert’s noisy 


DIVORCE. 


323 


movements in the sitting-room. Her father had 
looked at the torrent dashing over the precipice and 
breaking its force against a series of rocks rising in 
the gorge beneath. 

‘•What a waste of power!” he had remarked 
speculatively. 

“ How beautiful it is!” said Constance. Then he 
had explained to her how, by turning all the Avater 
into one stream a profitable mill could be started in 
the heart of this deserted region, and its fine timber 
utilized. Then he drew the moral as applied to 
human power, how industry and talents bent in one 
direction must sooner or later bring success. Was 
Gilbert expending his energy on countless rocks, or 
Avas he really turning it into the one deep channel 
of concentrated powers ? She could not tell. She 
had no way of judging. He had often told her 
within a few years that he had never really liked 
his business, that he had accepted a position be- 
cause no better one was at his disposal, and had 
continued in it because he saw no way of bettering 
himself by leaving it. Now, he was doing what he 
thoroughly liked, what exactly suited him. Then 
perhaps, if helped he would succeed. Dear Gilbert ! 
she was his wife — she OAved him love, honor, obedi- 
ence. She had given him herself to do as he willed 


324 


DIVORCE. 


with — and now she was questioning the vvisdom of 
letting him use a piece of property. True^ — it was 
the only piece left to her — he had used all but this. 
How he must despise her for being so practical ! 
But it was not for herself — he must understand that 
— how roughly he had spoken to her ! Her heart 
swelled, she began to cry, hot, bitter tears at the 
recollection of his cutting sentences. How strangely 
he had looked and acted ! Heretofore when he 
wanted her to sign papers he had explained himself 
gently, had kissed her and made her feel capable of 
any sacrifice for his sake. To-night he had been 
different, he had kissed her mechanically, and had 
told her his idea and decision in determined tones. 
He had not consulted her, he had simply assumed 
that he had a right to do as he pleased, and to force 
her to consent. Was she acting from a sense of 
offended pride ? No, she acquitted herself of that 
charge, she had no pride apart from her husband’s 
interests. Was it possible that he, too, doubted the 
wisdom of the course he had planned, and that this 
feeling was the secret cause of his unnatural m.an- 
ner ? Disturbed and dissatisfied with himself he 
wouli be quick to accuse her of suspicious doubts 
of his conduct. He was certainly intensely excited 
—using all his self-control to check his temper. 


DIVORCE. 


325 


How her words and looks must have angered him ! 
Hoping for sympathy and aid, she had met his 
roused energies and enthusiasm with shrinking 
fears, with hesitating speech — and features far more 
expressive of utter dissent from his wishes than any 
words could have been. Knowing as she thought 
how angry he could become from slighter causes, 
Constance felt that every moment was now increas- 
ing his annoyance with her. But her fears were not 
selfish ones — he understood her — “ But w^hat can 
he think of me ?” she kept asking herself as she rose 
and went into the sitting-room. 

Mr. Travers was sitting at the table figuring on a 
large sheet of paper. He glanced at Constance as 
she stood beside him, and then continued his cal- 
culations. His features were now white and rigid, 
and his eyes had a cold glitter in them that froze 
the words on her lips. But she put her arm around 
his neck. Some men would have noticed how thin 
it was ! how small were her hands ; the rings were 
loose on her white fingers. She felt a desire to put 
her head on his breast, to cry out her sorrow at 
having hurt and disappointed him, with his strong 
arms holding her. Surely he knew how she felt — 
she was his to forgive when she offended him, but 
he let her stand beside him and made no sign. 


326 


DIVOKCE. 


A sickening doubt rose in her mind — love for her 
was not her husband’s strongest passion — the de- 
sires, the proud anger that now prevented him from 
reading her thoughts stood between their souls. 
She grew faint and unsteady, he made no effort to 
support her, so she withdrew her arm, stood erect 
for a second and exerting all her power over her- 
self sat down a little way from him. She knew that 
anger swallows up many of the minor graces, but 
hitherto Gilbert’s wrath if quickly aroused and vio- 
lent had been soon over and repented of when ex- 
cited against her. As she watched him she knew 
that he was now under the dominion of other pas- 
sions and anger was not the worst nor strongest of 
them. Very angry people are not capable of going 
coolly through calculations involving the four rules 
of arithmetic. She forced back her tears — the 
words that wounded love prompted, something told 
her that tears and affection would only be tolerated 
at that moment, that love’s opportunity was past. 
She had hesitated when impulsive consent was ex- 
pected, and Gilbert "would not forgive wavering 
faith — considered agreement. When he was folding 
up his papers she spoke earnestly : 

“ Gilbert, I am willing to do what you think best 
about the house.” He gave her a cold glance : 


DIVORCE. 


327 


‘‘Indeed! But I want nothing from you that is 
given grudgingly.” 

“ Oh, don’t misunderstand me — the idea fright- 
ened me — thinking it over made it seem different — ” 

“ I had thought it ail over — I told you so at first.” 

“ I know that — still — ” 

“I beg your pardon. I know everyone’s side in 
the matter. I am responsible, and I hope worthy 
of trust. To be doubted by my wife is quite a new 
sensation. You will dictate to me how to manage 
my business after a while.” He glanced at her and 
saAV that she was white and quite passive under his 
angry sneers, powerless to deny or refute his accu- 
sations. “You are too anxious about the. children’s 
interests. You forget that in working for yours, I 
can not neglect theirs. You ought to do as . I ask 
you at once, then you would avoid exciting me — 
you know very well that I am more easily aroused 
now than ever— you might have a little sympathy 
with me — Here, I came in to-night carried away 
with thoughts of success, wild with delight and en- 
thusiasm, and look how you met me — like an icicle ! 
full of doubts and difficulties. Sometimes a woman 
can be too damned clever — a little feeling at times 
goes farther than philosophy. You could help me 
if you would only pull with me instead of the other 


328 


DIVORCE. 


way. I wish you would speak instead of sitting 
there like a statue ! I think your silence makes 
me more furious than wor(^ could. For Heaven’s 
sake, give way to your ^ger and say what you 
think ! but I forgot, you can control yourself even 
when by doing it you excite me to madness ! I’m 
going out!” 

Constance started to her feet and caught his arm. 

“Not until 3^011 forgive me, Gilbert — I can’t talk. 
I feel so sorr}^ — I came in here to tell you — ” 

“You should have coine sooner — ” 

“ I know it, I was wrong — ” 

He avoided her eyes and put her hands off his 
arm. 

“ I must get out in the air — this room is suffo- 
cating 1 Let this be a lesson to you — and don’t al- 
lude to the matter again. I want to forget it. I’m 
completely upset by this quarrel — or argument — 
and I came home so thoroughl}^ happy 1 ” 

“ But you will take the house, Gilbert. You will 
do as you intended — ” 

“ Yes, that is, I suppose I will, if you are sure 
that you are satisfied to let me have it 1 ” 

“ Oh, yes — I am — I didn’t intend to appear as 
you say I did — ” 

“Why if you were as selfish and mercenary as you 


DIVORCE. 


329 


appeared, you ougirt to feel thoroughly ashamed of 
yourself. There isn’t much love left when a wife 
quarrels about money. There— we’ll drop the sub- 
ject.” 

He glanced at her burning cheeks, gave her a 
careless kiss and left the room. 

Constance sat by the window — the night air Avas 
pleasant on her face, but she envied Gilbert his 
privilege of putting on his hat and walking off his 
jBxcitement in the open street. She did not try to 
analyze her feelings. It mattered not which was 
most in the wrong, she was too utterly wretched to 
reason it out. Gilbert had thought her mercenary 
— they had differed about money, and the money 
was certainly to be raised on her property. She 
felt contemptible in her own sight — she could sink 
no lower in her own esteem. 


XIX. 


The mortgage a settled affair, Gilbert’s spirits 
rose and bubbled over with Joy. 

Constance sympathized in his happiness, but felt 
no corresponding elation. There was no pleasing 
alteration in home burdens — their weight simply 
increased. The time to pay the house debts had 
not yet come, and Gilbert quietly ignored them. 

“Tell them they’ll get their money, and for 
heaven’s sake, don’t worry yourself about the bills ! ” 
was his general way of meeting his wife’s monthly 
question. 

“Gilbert, what am I to do about the debts?” 

Everything was now progressing — fortune was in 
sight ; he began to talk about Europe and rest. 

Constance heard with dulled senses, faith and en- 
thusiasm in matters concerning mines and railroads 
were no longer possible to her. 

330 


DIVORCE. 


331 


“You are so ridiculously narrow-minded!” Gil- 
bert told her. “ You won’t comprehend possibilities ; 
you will only sit and stare at a few facts that trouble 
you — temporary trifles. Why can’t you take broad 
views of life as I do? Why, good God! these men 
have had thousands of dollars from us. If they 
never were paid another cent they would still be the 
gainers. You put me out of all patience with you, 
going about with an expression on your face as if 
you were guilty of a crime.” 

Constance looked up from her sewing. 

“You are right, Gilbert, I often feel so. When 
I sit down to think, when I have leisure to contrast 
our present mode of living with the past, I cannot 
help it ! It is not honorable to live expensively on 
imaginary wealth, and I cannot do as you do! 
Every month I am reminded of the facts — tempor- 
ary trifles, you call them ; but, indeed they make up 
the sum of my existence just at present. I try to 
obey you in everything, Gilbert. I keep up appear- 
ances. It is most mortifying, and I doubt whether 
you have the right to force me to act against my 
own convictions.” 

“Well, what can you do to help matters?” 

“Nothing without you; I cannot act alone, and 
you know it ! ” 


/ 


332 


DIVOKCE. 


She spoke impulsively, her eyes growing brilliant. 

“What would you do if I gave you your own 
way?” 

“If I had my way you should get something 
to do, no matter how small the salary, so long as 
the business was legitimate. I would be content — 
happy! We would move into a little house, keep 
one servant, rent this, and live within our income. 
Then we would have peace and rest ! ” 

He laughed, but he was intensely annoyed. 

“WTiat desperate remedies!” 

“The case is desperate, Gilbert.” 

•“I don’t think so. When do you consider the 
situation, and decide what to do? I thought your 
time was pretty well taken up.” 

“It is; still I suffer so intensely that I imagine 
all kinds of emergencies, and plan how to meet them 
most sensibly.” 

“Does it occur to you that what you are saying 
is very unpleasant to me ? Why don’t you tell me 
in a few words to resign my position in the house, 
and let you manage everything, me with the rest?” 

“What a construction to put on my words! and 
you asked me what I would do. Oh, Gilbert, are 
not our interests alike? Why will you misunder- 
stand me — ?” 


DIVOKCE. 


333 


“And why will you doubt me? You are too in- 
different. You suspect my views, map out plans by 
yourself, accuse me of forcing you to act against 
your conscience. Do you think you are justified in 
all this?” 

“ I was only thinking of helping you, Gilbert.” 

“If you want to help me you will do what I tell 
you without questioning my judgment. Constance, 
a wife must defer to her husband when their views 
clash. Our ideas are completely opposed in this 
matter. It is certain that we cannot carry them 
out individually. Now, who is to submit?” 

He looked at her coldly, searchingly. Constance- 
put her hands in his. 

“Constance, this is to be our final argument on 
this subject. If there is to be peace between us 
you must make up your mind to be guided by me ; 
not only that, you must act and look as if you 
trusted me, although that is a thing of the past.” 

She cried bitterly, murmuring, “How can you hurt 
me so, Gilbert? I don’t deserve it.” 

He took her in his arms and kissed her. 

“Well, then, don’t weary me with heart-broken 
looks and appeals. You used to put implicit faith 
in me. It is well to develop, but I didn’t want you 
to outgrow that, your girlish trust.” 


334 


DIVOECE. 


His ejes and Yoice were full of reproacli. She 
shivered, and clung to him with passionate strength. 

“Don’t let me do it, Gilbert! Oh, don’t let me! 
You must understand me! You know how I love 
you! what you are to me! Why should worldly 
ideas trouble us? Oh, Gilbert, I don’t care for 
money ; I only care for you — for you and the child- 
ren ! Why can’t we be happy again ?” 

“Wliy, I am happy, Constance — perfectly happy. 
It is you who are not ; you worry yourself and me 
without cause ; you refuse to be happy with every- 
thing to make you so. Now kiss me, and promise 
me to do as I tell you.” 

A few months afterward, when Mr. Travers asked 
his wife for her diamonds — he wanted to raise some 
money — she gave them to him without the slightest 
hesitation. She had promised obedience, and she 
only cared for him. 

The diamonds in his pocket, he looked down in 
her face. She was standing at the bureau, putting 
away the empty cases that had held her jewels. 
Her cheeks were pink, her eyes luminous. 

Gilbert’s tenderness, since she had avowed her 
trust in him, had exorcised her heavy cares. He 
put his arms around her now, holding her to him 


DIVOECE. 


335 


witli a strengtli that hurt her, and passionately 
kissed her eyes and lips. 

‘‘Dot, my darling, you shall haye them all again 
in a short time, and a few new ones besides for in- 
terest. Kiss me, pet. I can’t tell you how happy 
I am ! Yictory is certain this time ! In a few weeks 
we can pack up and be off to Europe. I must 
hurry.” 

He kissed her again ; the pressure of his lips and 
strong arms nearly took away her breath, and then 
he was gone. Constance thought of the night at 
Long Branch when she had dreamed of silver bars. 

Mrs. Sedley’s card brought her back to realities. 

“What do you think of Maude’s last freak?” asked 
that lady, after some talk about Cora. “Have’nt 
you heard? You seldom go to see Maude, I 
imagine.” 

“I really visit very little,” Constance answered 
honestly. 

“ She has sent the children to boarding school. I 
thought your husband might have mentioned it.” 

“Gilbert does’nt know it. We go there together, 
you know; and Gilbert has been so busy lately 
we have been out very seldom. It is several weeks 
since we were at your cousin’s house.” 

Mrs. Sedley looked straight at Constance, and 


336 


DIVORCE. 


then became absorbed in a vase on the mantel. 

“ It is very foolish, very wrong, in fact, on Maude’s 
part! She knows better. Her reasons, too, are 
.absurd. She doesn’t want the children in society 
too young. Pshaw! as if she couldn’t send them to 
'.bed when they were in the way.” 

don’t see how she can part with them.” 

“Maude can make up her mind to part with any. 
thing or anybody, Mrs. Travers. But this is another 
false step. Cora is so angry about it that she won’t 
go near the house. I don’t agree with Cora in that, 
and I fancy Mr. Marchant has something to do with 
her decision. Mr. Sedley is more temperate in his 
views ; still he thinks that Maude should have kept 
her daughter with her, whatever she did with the 
boys. The girl was a guardian angel. The truth is, 
Maude is reckless and defiant. I think she enjoys 
experimenting with society, testing its principles, 
and seeing just how far she can go. So many women 
do it now.” 

“The children are so lovable and interesting. 
Florence must be very much disappointed.” 

“ Have you seen her?” 

“No.” 

“Isn’t that strange?” 

“ I think I understand her.” 


DIVORCE. 


337 


Mrs. Sedlej’s straight glance again puzzled Con- 
stance, and gave her an uneasy sensation which 
remained inexplicable. 

Florence’s silence and absence were to Constance 
quite easily explained. Florence had expected to 
teach Bertie and Jessie, and Constance had never 
been able to engage her. She had made no apolo- 
gies to Florence ; she had given her no excuses for 
her contradictory course. The true reason she 
could not give without, in a measure, compromising 
her husband, and it was the very one that her ac- 
quaintances would have rejected as totally false. 
Florence, with her fine perceptions and innate deli- 
cacy, would shrink from telling her that she was 
without pupils ; it would involve a keen reproach. 
So Constance argued, while on her way to visit 
Florence. 

She found Florence debating over an offer from 
a country school proprietor who wanted an as- 
sistant. 

“I wouldn’t leave home for such a small salary,” 
said Constance, after hearing all the details. 

“I am afraid that if I refuse this I shall be idle 
all the year ; it is too late to make engagements.” 

Constance was troubled, therefore silent. Her 


338 


DIVOECE. 


powerlessness to help Florenco absorbed her, and 
she was tongue-tied by circumstances. 

It was so very unexpected,” Florence said. “ I 
felt it more than if I had been prepared for it. 
Having taught the children all they knew, they 
seemed to be mentally mine. I loved them.” 

She checked herself, and nervously folded and 
unfolded a note that lay before her. 

‘‘ I cannot understand it ! ” Constance said, impul- 
sively. “Mrs. Whiting always objected to schools 
of any kind for girls. She liked the English plan 
of educating them at home. It is strange, very 
strange, in fact, recalling all that she has said to me 
from time to time against parting with her children, 
it seems as if there must be some wrong motive for 
what she is doing. What do you think?” 

Florence stood up and walked to the window, but 
Constance had seen the bright color rushing over 
her face. An awkward silence was broken by Flor- 
ence saying slowly : 

“ Constance, I don’t want to think about it.” She 
turned, her features were white and drawn. “ I have 
been trying to see my duty. I have always been 
honorable. I am certain of nothing.” 

“You are right, Florence ; say nothing about her. 


DIVOECE. 


339 


Slie has been jour friend. It is not jour affair nor 
mine. We must be charitable.” 

-Florence fixed her lovelj ejes on Constance. 
Admiration seemed to be mingled with pitj and 
warning in her glance. 

“Are jou quite well, Constance?” 

“Oh, jes ; whj?” 

“I thought JOU looked rather j^ale. Yes, as jou 
saj, we must have charitj.” 

Yet it seemed a great effort with Florence to have 
charitj, and Constance found herself living over 
this visit and recalling her friend’s words — her earn- 
est looks, more than all, her strange — suppressed 
manner, as if she were exerting a self-control that 
she did not reallj approve of. Constance again 
consulted Gilbert with the same result, and Florence 
left the citj. 

Mr. Travers’ “few months” came and went, and 
the success that was to gild everjthing ivas as far 
off, or as near as ever. A sudden fall in the stock 
of certain railroads had brought on a steadj depres- 
sion in his spirits that was threatening to wreck all 
domestic comfort. Constance managed to keep the 
children out of his waj, but she was the helpless, 
loving witness of his savage ill-humor and disgust 
with the whole world. Everj one was to blame but 


mo 


DIYOECE. 


liimself — he alone was the victim of fraudulent rep- 
resentations and deeply-laid plans for plundering 
him. A trip to the mines swallowed up more money 
than he could afford to spend and yielded no pres- 
ent remedy. Its profits were all for future use. 

In this dilemma Mr. Travers had an inspiration. 
His wife’s relatives might help him for her sake — 
His absence had done wonders for Constance, two 
months of restful nights and peaceful days had 
quite restored her nerve power. She always had 
been a pet in her family. He would send her to 
negotiate loans from her own people. He broached 
the subject, by giving a glowing account of the con- 
dition of the mine, and asking her if she thought 
that her brothers and brothers-in-law would like to 
have some shares in it. Constance was silent for 
some minutes. 

“If you believe in the safety of the investment, 
Gilbert, you might ask them about it.” There was 
no warmth in her manner. He came home that 
evening utterly disappointed, and bitter in his de- 
nunciations of her whole family. Not one of them 
would touch the stock under any consideration. 
Constance did not feel, nor affect surprise ; but 
within a few weeks Gilbert proposed that she 


DIVOKCE. 


341 


should borrow money from her brothers, and give 
it to him. 

“I must have money!” he said. “If I can’t raise 
some soon, I shall have to sell valuable stock at a 
heavy loss, stock that I want to hold at any cost. 
It must be done, I tell you ! your brothers will help 
you. They should do it — willingly. You did them ' 
a great service when you persisted in drawing your 
own share from your father’s estate. To-day it is 
worth double what it was then ! ” Constance started, 
her face glowed. Her husband understood her un- 
spoken delight. “ They owe you more than you will 
ask from them. Will you do it to-morrow? ” Con- 
stance sat with downcast eyes. 

“Oh, I cannot, Gilbert! It is not right — not 
just! If the case were reversed, they would urge 
no claim upon us. Think of some better plan.” 

“I tell you, I have thought of everything!. I 
have exhausted everything ! If you refuse me, we 
are ruined — beggared, everything e own will go for 
a mere song ! My pride is as much involved in this 
as yours ! But they won’t deny your claim upon , 
them — it will only be a loan for a few months. I 
can’t see anything so very lowering or disgraceful 
in a sister asking aid — temporary aid — from her 
brothers. Why, it is done every day in the year. 


342 


DIVOECE. 


Families sustain each of the members for the sake 
of all! If you won’t do it for my sake, thinE of 
your children. You have now the cards in your own 
hands — I’ve done my best — all that is possible. 
Come, Constance, you are a clever woman — capable 
of planning to meet emergencies — Bouse yourself 
and act like a sensible being. If you go tho right 
way about it, and represent the case properly, you 
will succeed. Assume that you have rights, and 
you’ll get them. "Will you think it over while I am 
out?” 

She looked at him, and motioned assent. He left 
the house and went gaily down the street. Con- 
stance could see him from her pretty, cushioned 
window-seat. It grew dusk — she put the children 
to bed, she thought the break in her reflections 
would do her good. Then she went back to the sit- 
ting-room, she could not do anything but think — 
think of Gilbert’s side, of her own, of the chil- 
dren’s, of her relatives. She pursued in turn, two 
trains of thought — success and its results — failure 
and its possible consequences. Then the heavy 
misery of this necessity overwhelmed her, and she 
cried until she was tired, silently, bitterly and alone. 
At midnight, Gilbert came into the dark sitting 
room. Constance was quiet, the tears had relieved 


DIVORCE. 


343 


her throbbing head, she thought and spoke clearly, 
surprised at herself. Gilbert made a brilliant light 
and looked searchingly at her features. She met 
his eyes as she answered his unspoken question. 

“Gilbert, I cannot do wdiat you ask.” 

“Why not,” he said sharply, angrily confronting 
her. 

“Because, I do not believe that we could return 
the money. I cannot ask it as a loan — not co.:iSci“ 
entiously. I don’t vrant to ask my brothers to give 
me money. That is casting a slur upon you. Gil- 
bert, you say I have rights, I have — but they are 
my rights as a wife. I must have them before I 
can claim those of a sister. Let us keep our trou- 
bles to ourselves. No matter what changes w^e may 
have to make in our way of living, no matter how 
poor we may become — Gilbert, we can work for 
each other, help each other. Do not let us amuse 
the world with our misfortunes. No one has a right 
to pry into our affairs, so long as we ask no one for 
assistance. They are sacred if we do not make them 
public. 

“ So this is your conclusion ? ” he said sneeringly. 

“I thought of everything, of everyone — Gil- 
bert, listen to me — ” for he had turned from her. 


344 


DIVORCE. 


“Suppose I got this money, it might go like the 
rest.” 

“It wouldn’t, it would be perfectly safe ! ” he cried, 
angrily. 

“There is always a risk, and we have no right to 
risk what is not our own — "We have no security 
to offer them.” 

“ I see, I see! now you are going to reproach me 
for risking and losing yours — ” 

“No, I was going to say, that in case my brothers 
refuse me, I will have exposed our condition for no 
gain.” 

“They won’t refuse you, I tell you — they can’t! 
Why,^ my God! to-day they are richer than they 
ever expected to be, just through your sense of jus- 
tice, your honest determination to carry out your 
father’s wishes. They must help us ! ” 

“Gilbert, let us help ourselves.” 

“I want you to do as I ask you, Constance. Do 
you hear me? You promised, not so long ago, to 
obey me.” 

“I know it — but this — Oh, Gilbert, you don’t 
know what you are insisting upon. It is simpl}^ 
destroying ourselves ! ” 

“I am the best judge of that! Will you do it at 


DIVOBCE. 


345 


once — to-morrow morning?” Constence shook her 
head, words seemed impossible to her. 

“ Yery well, Madam — ” He turned and left the 
room, going down to the library where he spent the 
night. Constance went over and over the whole 
matter until her weary brain grew numb, then she 
slept restlessly until awakened by the breakfast bell. 
Morning brought no change in her determination. 
Her husband’s honor and reputation were at stake 
now. To go to her brothers was to admit Gilbert’s 
failure as a good business man — perhaps even, as 
an honest man. When she went down to the din- 
ing-room, Gilbert was not- there. He had eaten 
his breakfast and gone out. She understood him. 
He would have nothing to do with her until she 
obeyed him. 

She felt outraged — indignant — still she loved 
him, and he was in trouble — if she could only help 
him wdthout compromising him. She wearied her- 
self over this problem, all in vain. She had noth- 
ing left that was tangible. What aid she could 
give him, he would not take. The day dragged 
wearily. At dinner-time, Mr. Travers came home. 
He was cool and distant with his wife, and sharp 
with Bertie and Jessie. Dinner over, he went out, 


346 


DIVOKCE. 


having made an elaborate toilet which suggested a 
social visit. 

At nine o’clock the house-maid came to Con- 
stance for ' orders. Mr. Travers had told her to 
leave one of the spare rooms in readiness for him 
and she had just finished with it. 


XX. 


For some weeks Constance met Gilbert at the 
table in the mornings and evenings, and they ex- 
changed remarks about the weather and the news 
of the day. It was the farcical scene relieving the 
tragic. Constance began to doubt her own iden- 
tity. She began to do something else — to see 
strong elements of character in a new light. Why 
could not Gilbert understand her reasons for refus- 
ing his request ? He must. She had told him the 
simple truth, and he knew that he could trust her 
sincerity. What now separated them? Anger? 
perhaps — but his natural anger could not continue 
for three weeks. Will ? he would be master — but 
he had learned that love was all-powerful where 
force was powerless. Indifference ? Was it indif- 
ference ? The doubt crept slowly into her mind, 
but once there, she could not put it out. If her 
husband loved her could he torture her as he was 
347 


348 


DIVORCE. 


doing now ? Impossible ! She began to study his 
actions, looks, voice, manners, with new interest, 
with keen senses sharpened by bitter pain and 
longing. He betrayed no signs of self-control or 
self-repression. He was at ease, cool and pre- 
meditated as ever. He dressed with unusual care, 
lie ate with his usual appetite, he never looked bet- 
ter nor happier. What did it all mean ? He 
forced her into simulating a like manner in public. 
She wore her reflected mask and wondered if her 
heart would break while it was on. He did not 
show any anxiety about her, there was no sign of 
interest in her in his features, even when he 
was speaking to her. They observed all the usages 
of their ordinary, exterior life. They went out to- 
gether. 

“ Gilbert — how long can you live this way ! ” 
she said to him one Sunday as they were on their 
way home from church. “ Sometimes — this morn- 
ing, during the Litany, I felt like screaming out, 
like publishing our misery to the wLole congrega- 
tion ! How can you remain so self-possessed — so 
indifferent — to what I suffer ?” 

He looked at her, her vail partly covered her 
face, but her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glittered 


DIVOECE. 


349 


with a wild light, there were tears on her long 
lashes. 

“ Don’t speak quite so loudly — remember you are 
in the street. I am doing my utmost to preserve 
appearances until you come to your senses.” 

“ What hypocrites we are ! Gilbert, we know what 
is right, why can’t we do it?” 

“ Why don’t you do what I ask of you ?” 

“ Because, I cannot believe it right.” 

“ I cannot control you — so, you must not attempt 
to advise or influence me. You have broken your 
vows.” 

Constance was silent. All that day and for sev- 
eral days she struggled with herself — with her 
pride, her best judgment, her scruples. In those 
days she learned more of her own nature, of her 
own character, of her own ideas and needs, than 
she had in all her twenty-seven years of happy 
existence. She made no effort to judge her hus- 
band. She had learned in the first year of her 
marriage that his word was to be her unquestioned 
law — and until now she had obeyed him. She re- 
called her grandmother’s advice, her girlish sense 
of it. She needed it all now. Love was still 
behind the clouds. After all — what was she that 
she should consult her own wishes and reject Gil- 


350 


DIVOECE. 


bert’s ? Suppose lier pride bumbled in the sight of 
her brothers and sisters — the thought was bitter 
indeed — the very contemplation of it was sicken- 
ing — but, if Gilbert required it to be done, if her 
pride hung in the balance with his love, it should 
be sacrificed. Yet, while preparing to go and see 
Hier brothers, she knew intuitively that she w^as 
about to surrender her sacred principles, the sanc- 
tity of marriage, for no purpose. She made one last 
effort — she followed her husband into the library 
and put her hand on his shoulder as she spoke, 
“ Gilbert — I am going to do what you wish — this 
day — but I want to ask you again to reconsider the 
matter, to realize its importance — ” he interrupted 
her, coldly, rudely. 

“ I haven’t your powers of imagination, fortunately 
for myself, I don’t magnify trifies into heavy griefs. 
I look for the wisest actions, and the best results.” 

He p)ut some papers in his pocket and turned 
away without looking at her. Constance sat down 
in the nearest chair, faint and sick with a vague 
dread — a presentiment that might become a fixed 
belief. Was her husband’s utter indifference 
feigned or real ? 

After some minutes she roused herself, attended 
to her morning duties, and having put on a walk- 


DIVOECE. 


351 


ing dress, went down town. Tlie street and store 
in wMcli her father had so long carried on his busi- 
ness, with their familiar appearance and noises, and 
the vivid recollections of happy visits to them, were 
not calculated to allay her nervousness or imbue 
her with hope. She went in quickly and was shown 
into the private office which Charley and Percy had 
turned into a charming little parlor. Her brothers 
rose to kiss her and chatted with her for some time 
as they always did — gaily and freely, about family 
nev/s and social incidents. Yet something in their 
manner impressed her with the belief that they 
knew exactly what she was there for. When she 
told them what she wanted, which she did frankly 
and simply, they refused her kindly and firmly. 
Then she received the advice that she had brought 
upon herself. Charley caressingly held her little 
hot hand in his while he talked to her. He thor- 
oughly enjoyed the opportunity for expressing 
himself. 

Con., we would do anything in the world for 
you — if you want money for personal expenses or 
for the children, come to us or send us your bills. 
But, we have all talked this thing over, John along 
with us, and we have made up our minds exactly 
what to do. We’ll take care of you and your child- 


352 


DIVORCE. 


ren, but vre will not have any more good money 
:sqnandered in wild speculations. It is wicked to 
waste what you reall} need to live upon. Gilbert 
has flung away your fortune — the man is crazy on 
the subject of getting rich suddenly without work.” 

“ I tell you what it is, Con.,” — said Percy, if 
Gilbert would burn up his stock — it is only so much 
waste paper, and go to work, he will do w'ell yet. 
The energy he wastes would make a man rich if 
turned in one legitimate direction. But Gilbert will 
■ do anything to avoid an honest day’s work. I 
swear ! he is worse than that brother of his that he 
was so ashamed of — for Jack hadn’t a wife and four 
little children.” Charley took up the suggestion : 

‘'Use your influence with him, Constance — let 
him get a situation and go to work. There is 
plenty of money to be made legitimately. I’d paper 
a wall with that mining stock. You have your 
house, don’t look so depressed dear. You’re the 
baby of the family, we won’t let you sujffer, pet, 
you stood by us, and we’ll stand by you. We don’t 
blame you — but you know only a millionaire could ' 
expect to put on such style as your husband wants. ^ 
We all knew how it would end. However, we’re all ■; 



DIVORCE. 


353 


But, now remember, come to us when you want 
anything for yourself.” 

He pressed her hand and gave her a significant 
glance. Percy wanted her to take lunch with them, 
but Constance declined and gladly found herself in 
the street. Her head was hot, her heart beat like a 
hammer. She walked on. It was exactly what she 
had expected — only so much worse. They had in- 
sinuated that she would accept help and not share 
it with her husband. In the eyes of her own family 
her interests were already separate and distinct 
from Gilbert’s. Go to them for assistance ? She 
thought she would prefer to starve. She walked on 
and on, she was quietly dressed, she had a vail on, 
she held her parasol down. She was hungering for 
sympathy, but to whom could she go ? To her 
dear old grandmother who understood her? But 
that would be dishonorable. To her husband ? If 
she threw herself on his breast what would he do 
with her ? The doubt was sufficient for Imr. 

She stopped in her rapid progress to let a lady 
pass who had just got out of a carriage. It was 
Mrs. "Whiting, Mrs. Maude Leavitt now. Why did 
Constance turn her head to look the carriage ? 
Certainly not to inspect the vehicle, she was per- 
fectly familiar with its appearance. But she looked, 


354 


DIVOECE. 


Tier cheeks hiirned and she hurried her steps. Mr. 
Travers was leaning forward from the back seat 
drawing-to the door. “ I should have stopped and 
spoken to him,” thought Constance, when she had 
gone a block beyond the carriage. ‘‘ I should have 
stopped, why did I not ?” She could not answer 
the question. “ He is doing nothing wTong,” she 
argued. “ He has no business to attend to, she 
met him and offered him a seat, there is nothing in 
it for me to be w^orried about. I wonder why I did 
not stop ? No, doubt, because Gilbert and I have 
quarreled. It must have been that feeling that 
controlled me. I could not have borne his coldness 
just at that moment.” 

She reached home utterly exhausted, took off her 
dress and lay down. Sleep would refresh her — 
strengthen her — she needed all the strength she 
could gain now. She must exert herself to help 
Gilbert, to manage the little that was left to them, 
to encourage him in his search for employment. 
Dudley wandered in, to be kissed and petted. 
Constance put him beside her and went to sleep 
with his fat arms about her neck. His gleeful 
laugh startled her. Gilbert had come into the 
room and was throwing kisses to his little favorite. 


DIVORCE. 


355 


He looked carelessly at Constance as she sat np 
surprised and confused. 

“ Well, what’s the result?” 

‘‘What I was afraid of,” she said. 

“Well, it was your fault then, you didn’t present 
the thing in the proper way. You didn’t use any 
skill or tact. You asked a favor instead of insisting 
on a right. Well, w^hat did they say about me ? Oh 
you needn’t flush and look so hurt — I am prepared 
for anything. I suppose they know all about my 
affairs — more than I do, no doubt. Come, I have a 
particular reason for asking.” 

He listened attentively. Constance concealed 
nothing. 

“ So they are willing to take care of you and the 
children, are they ? Miserly hounds ! I might have 
expected that !” 

“ I knew — I told you, Gilbert — that it was an un- 
wise thing to do. But it is over, Gilbert, let us for- 
get it.” 

“Oh, don’t worry me now with your emotions!” 
he said, turning on his heel. “You could have 
done what I wanted three weeks ago. It is too late 
now.” 


“What will you do?” 


356 


DIVORCE. 


‘‘I don’t know! Don’t ask any questions — you 
can’t help me. Say no more about the thing.” 

He left her, and Constance lay down again, press- 
ing her hands together in her dumb 'agony, and 
looking at her child’s movements with dull, despair- 
ing eyes. He wanted to follow his father, so she let 
him go — even he struggled away from her kisses. 
She had but one conviction. Her husband under- 
stood her so thoroughly that he knew how to cause 
her the most pain. He knew too, that he might use 
his power mercilessly — her love for him 'was a part 
of her being, he risked nothing by wounding it, 
since it would only cease with her life. Security is 
a terrible vantage ground, and her husband fully 
appreciated the fact. Days, weeks and months 
passed' and his indifference seemed to be love- 
proof. 

Dejected love is a costly treasure to hide, Con- 
stance found herself forced out of self-respect to 
make the effort. She observed her husband with- 
out being able to find any clue to the motives that 
controlled his actions. She judged him by herself. 
Failure might for a time so prey upon his spirits rs 
to completely transform him in unimportant ways, 
but beneath all these he was a Christian — a man of 
honor- -he knew what was right. Self-conquest is 


DIVORCE. 


357 


often a hard victory. Gilbert was physically a 
giant — and the more powerful the passions the 
greater must be the effort to control and guide 
them. If it cost him in proportion what it did her, 
she felt that he needed her sympathy, so she bore 
with him patiently and lovingly. His bitter sneers, 
his anger, his rough impatience hurt her less than 
his neglect, these at least indicated that he noticed 
her. She credited him with manly courage and un- 
flinching energy, for abroad he was still unchanged 
in manners and appearance. Home was behind the 
scenes. There, the charms that won the public were 
laid aside like garments, and Constance stood the 
brunt of his evil passions undisguised and unfet- 
tered. He baffled her — yet she loved him — she 
thought more than ever, because of her supreme 
pity for him. 

She was like a delicate plant deprived of its prop 
and beaten by the winds. But the human plant has 
an invisible prop to which the soul clings, and 
around which it twines its frail tendrils of faith. 
Constance had faith. She had also another bless- 
ing-occupation. It sought in vain for its reward 
— appreciation, but it brought its constant com- 
panion — peace. 

Fo rit happened that the cook and the house- 


358 


DIVORCE. 


maid having concluded that they would not be paid 
what was so long due them, left on the same day. 
In this dilemma, Constance pondered the subject, 
and seeing no prospect of paying others thought she 
would try and manage with one servant. The nurse, 
who had been invaluable as such, volunteered to as- 
sist in every department if Mrs. Travers would keep 
her. She could not leave the children. So with 
Kate as her one capable assistant, Mrs. Travers 
faced the new position. Her husband shrugged his 
shoulders, offered no advice, no encouragement, and 
altered none of his habits. Perhaps it was because 
she had less time to devote to him ; but Constance 
thought that he grew more exacting than ever. 
But, oh, the blessing — the relief of work ! No idle 
moments in which to recall past joys — no sleepless 
nights in which to fret over ill-usage and neglect! 
Constance grew daily stronger. Hope began to 
color life. Surely if Gilbert saw that her love was 
a vital force he would forgive her and take her back 
to his heart. So she took courage, her spirits re- 
gained their elasticity. Gilbert liked happy faces 
about him. ‘ They were young ’ as Charley had 
said, and every sorrow has its cure. She mended 
and made over, she was in turn seamstress, nurse, 


DIVOECE. 


359 


governess, liousemaicl and cook, for Gilbert bad 
•favorite dislies tliat Kate could not succeed with. 

Surely she was helping Gilbert altliougli be never 
told ber so. Tbeir expenses were being materially 
decreased. Sbe never mentioned money — it would 
bave been useless. Sbe bad none, Gilbert was al- 
ways well supplied with it. He still dressed ele- ' 
gantly, bis small luxuries and personal expenses 
were not lessened. When a dun grew insolent 
and threatened a law-suit, Gilbert settled vitb him, 
bow, exactly, Constance did not know, and did not 
dare to ask. Sbe might take the weight of econo- 
mizing on ber own shoulders, and to any extent so 
long as Gilbert’s tastes were not limited nor en- 
croached upon. Constance often shrank from ber 
knowledge of human nature, and again could bave 
knelt in adoration before its inexhaustible powers. 
Her own capabilities began to excite ber surprise. 
The more she taxed herself, the more sbe surely and 
swiftly responded to ber own demands. Sbe felt 
herself surrounded by a cloud of curious, critical 
witnesses, neighbors, friends and relatives — the last 
being the most intolerable. All ber activities were 
aroused in the desire to protect ber husband and 
home from vulgar eyes and tongues. Sbe knew 
that the spring of ber life was ber hope in Gilbert’s 


360 - 


DIVOECE. 


love. A rise in stocks, a good situation, a success 
in liis mining operations, would act like a charm, 
and give her back her husband as she had once 
possessed him. 

She could have had outside sympathy, but she 
avoided it, and thought that she deceived people 
into the belief that she did not need it. Sometimes 
when alone together, her grandmother would put 
her thin hands on her grandchild’s head and smooth 
the heavy hair from her broad, low forehead, and 
look in her eyes — out of which certain expressions 
had been crushed. But neither woman spoke her 
thoughts. 

“ The boys should have helped her anyhow',” old 
Mrs. Morgan said once to Mr. Lacy, wdien Constance 
was the subject of conversation. 

“ They could have lost money,” he said gravely. 
‘‘I don’t think that any of her relatives can help 
Constance.” 


I 



% 


XXI. 


One June morning, Constance went tlirougli her 
many duties without her usual cheerfulness. She 
felt nervous and exhausted. She had gone to her 
husband with a number of letters from the various 
trades-people, and she had told him with a w'^eary, 
hunted look in her eyes, that she could not answer 
these men, and put them o£f any longer. Gilbert 
had listened carelessly — impatiently even, and had 
given her no decided answer. She could not tell 
whether he would settle the debts or let them go ; 
he had evaded her earnest appeal, and had pro- 
posed going to the cottage and staying there until 
late in the fall. 

“How can we go?” she had replied. “In debt 
here, and without servants. It is better to stay at 
home where I can economize quietly.” 

She left him with the question still open, for he 
was determined to have his own way, and Constance 
361 - ^ 


362 


DIVORCE. 


felt utterly unable to undertake a season at tlie sea- 
shore, with all lier present disadvantages increased. 
She was disappointed and hurt — bitterly hurt. He 
would not think of her — of her pride, or her 
feelings. He could sit smoking and reading in the 
library and let her weary herself with vague conjec- 
tures as to the great problem — “how they were to 
live.” If he would only trust her, be candid and 
explicit, and a little sympathetic, she felt that she 
could hear and bear the worst. 

About noon she heard |him going out. He did 
not call to her, he never did now, and yet she stood 
still and listened — he might do it. He had break- 
fasted late, as usual, in solitary state, waited upon 
by her, he would not return until six o’clock. Was 
he going to try in some wny to raise money and re- 
lieve her anxiety by attending to the debts ? 

Possibly, because — and she realized the fact, with 
a bitter conviction of its truth, he would do it to 
gain his own ends, not for her sake. Still, no mat- 
ter what the motive, how intensely happy the act 
would make her! She knew that he often sold out 
stock at a heavy loss. At twelve o’clock she went 
down stairs to get the children their lunch. Kate 
was ironing, but she could look out on the pretty 
garden where the little ones played together. They 


DIYOKCE. 


363 



came rushing through the lower hall, Bertie, Jessie 
and Johnny. 

“Where is Dudley?” asked Constance. There 
was a pause. Kate came to the kitchen door and 
looked at the group, iron in hand. 

“He went up to you, mama,” said Bertie, “just a 
little while ago. You were up in your room, I saw 
you standing near the bureau. You were dust- 
ing it.” 

Constance ran up stairs, calling and looking in 
every room, Kate behind her. Dudley was not to 
found. Coming down again Constance noticed that 
the hall door was only closed to. She went out on 
the stoop, the child must have left the house. Leav- 
ing Bertie to watch the children, Constance took 
one direction and Kate the other. Constance 
walked swiftly, frightened yet capable of balancing 
fears and hopes. It was a lovely morning, the 
handsome private blocks were rather free from vehi- 
cles, and groups of laughing children were playing 
in areas and upon stoops. She hurried on, too 
much excited to feel tired. Where could the child 
have gone ! He was stout and large for his two 
years, his sturdy little legs carried him slowly and 
surely on long walks with the children, he loved the 
open air and the gay streets. Constance spoke to 


364 


DIVOECE. 


children and stopped policemen, but in vain. Her 
strength began to fail. Kate might have found him, 
still she would go through another of the streets 
running parallel with her own. So she went dovui 
the avenue and turned another corner. In the mid- 
dle of the block she saw a little figure sitting on the 
lowest step of a broad stoop. A little figure Avith 
waA^y, golden hair shining in the sun, its bare knees 
exposed, its head drooping and supported by a 
short, fat arm. Constance reached it — sat down 
beside it — for some moments she saw nothing — then 
a faint, dizzy sensation overpowered her. She took 
the sleeping child in her arms and looked about her. 
She was sitting on Mrs. Whiting’s stoop. What a 
relief ! She would go in and rest before going home. 
So she rang the lower bell, the stoop seemed to her 
utterly impracticable. She sat for some minutes in 
the cool basement, recoA’ering voice and strength. 
“Was Mrs. Whiting at home?” “Yes,” the girl 
said, “Mrs. Leavitt^ was up stairs in the parlor.” 
Constance flushed at her OAvn want of tact, but ex- 
citement had routed superficial ideas. 

She could hear Mrs. Leavitt’s voice, reading 
aloud, as she walked slowly up the short stair case. 
The wide parlor doors stood open, and as she en- 
tered, Constance had a full view of Mrs. Leavitt in 


DIVORCE. 


365 


a white morning-dress, half reclining in a low chair, 
a book on her knees, and Mr. Travers stretched full 
length on the sofa beside her. One white hand was 
toying with the stray ringlets on her neck, he held 
a cigar in the other. As his eyes fell on his wife, 
standing silent and still within the door, he started, 
colored slightly and stood np. His companion 
flushed as she rose, but spoke coolly. 

Why, Constance ! How you startled us ! What 
is the trouble with you? Do sit down! Why, you 
look like a ghost!” 

“ What is the matter, Constance? ” Gilbert asked, 
roughly, too much annoyed to control his voice or 
eyes. “Sit down here.” He put her in a chair, 
took Dudley from her arms and laid him on the sofa, 
and finding a fan began to use it vigorously. Mrs. 
Leavitt hurried to bring some wine. Constance 
was alarmingly white and quiet, and the expression 
in her eyes, when she fixed them on her husband’s 
face, made him lower his. She refused the wine. 
Gilbert put his arm around her shoulders and held 
it to her lips. “You must drink it!” he said, 
“Constance, what do you mean, by acting so 
strangely? Do you want me? What has hap- 
pened?” 

He looked at her then, curiously, she had no hat 


866 


DIVOECE. 


on, lier hair was loosened, lier pretty light morning 
dress was soiled with the dust of the streets. She 
looked np, realizing his surprise. Her lips trembled, 
she flushed painfully, her voice shook. 

“You must have left the door open — Dudley fol- 
lowed you, I suppose — I am worn out looking for 
liim, I found him here on the stoop — I came up to 
explain. Let me take him home.” 

“Not until you are perfectly rested! ” cried Mrs. 
Leavitt. “You must stay to lunch with me. Dear 
little fellow. How soundly he sleeps ! The idea of 
following you with his little legs, trying to catch up 
with you — I can see him toddling along. Why, 
Constance, you must be nearly dead, dear, Avith 
fright and fatigue. I’m sure I should be. It’s well 
your husband only came this far, isn’t it ? Fancy, 
if he had gone down town. Tl^^ child might have 
been killed, trying to cross the wide streets. It was 
quite lucky that you thought of bringing me that 
book,” this to Mr. Travers. 

Gilbert made no effort to substantiate the excuse. 
He looked what he felt, angry and determined to 
remain so. 

“Let me send for your hat, Constance, the girl will 
tell them that Dudley is here, and you come up- 
stairs and lie down for an hour. Indeed you must! 


DIYOECE. 


367 


Mr. Travers insist upon it. Constance will do as 
you say.” 

Constance stood up. 

“I must go home,” she said, with an appealing 
glance that Gilbert would not see. He spoke 
quickly : 

“Yes, if you are able it will be better. I’ll carry 
this young man.” 

Mrs. Leavitt brought a hat and a parasol, and 
Constance went home. Gilbert did not speak on 
the way ; she had his arm, and she walked slowly. 
At the door he put the child in her arms, and said, 
as he turned away, carelessly, as usual : 

“You had better lie down. I have something to 
attend to down town. I may not be home until 
late.” 

Bertie opened the door, and amid the children’s 
rejoicings, Kate arrived tired and troubled, and 
quite at her wits’ end. 

She hugged Dudley wide awake, and Constance 
gladly agreed that the ironing could be put off, and 
that Kate should play in the garden with the child- 
ren while she slept away her fatigue and anxiety. 

She went up-stairs and lay down, but not to sleep. 
Her brain was in a whirl. She could not think 
clearly. How glad she was that Gilbert had left 


368 


DIVORCE. 


her at the door? Had he come in she might have 
given way to her emotions, and poured out re- 
proaches that she would have regretted afterward. 

It was well for her that she had time to remember 
just how much she had to complain of, and to tell 
herself that she expected too much. 

It was foolish, absurd, to suppose that Gilbert 
could see and feel the mortifications that she was 
subjected to daily. But she wished that he w'ould 
respect himself, and not touch Mrs. Leavitt’s hair. 
No matter what other men might do, she expected 
her husband to treat Mrs. Leavitt with the utmost 
deference. He, of all men, should not take any 
advantage of her position. The knowledge that he 
covdd do it fretted his wife. She felt sorry for the 
woman who had put it out of her power to resent 
the familiarities of the men who professed to be her 
best friends. Then she recalled her husband’s 
declaration, “that he never went alone to Mrs. 
Leavitt’s.” 

Mrs. Sedley’s expressive glance recurred to her 
with unexpected meaning attached. She thought 
of something else— of Florence’s face — her w^ords, 
her hesitation, her wonderful self-control. Her 
curiosity was now excited. What did those two 
women mean ? what did they suspect ? 


DIVOECE. 


369 


She sat up — finally got up and began to dress for 
dinner. A longing to see her husband, to hear him 
explain everything, took possession of her. His 
honor seemed to be involved in all this mysterious 
silence of glances that spoke more forcibly than 
words. His honor! 

Constance began to realize what that was to her. 
She forgot herself, her fright, her surprise, the 
money cares that had appeared the heaviest possi- 
ble for a woman to bear. They shrank out of recol- 
lection before this absorbing question. She had 
ample time to consider it. 

Mr. Travers did not come home to dinner. Con- 
stance went through some show of eating hers with 
Bertie and Jessie, and then went up-stairs with 
them. 

At nine o’clock the house was quiet. Constance 
went down to the library for a book, and was leav- 
ing the room when her husband opened the street 
door. They met in the hall. 

“ I want to have a talk with you, Constance, if 
you feel like listening to me,” he said quietly. “ Let 
us go into the library. I have been making up my 
mind for some time to come to an understanding 
with you. Perhaps this is as good an opportunity 
as I can expect.” 


370 


DIVORCE. 


She followed him wonderingly. Mr. Travers made 
several lights and motioned her politely to a chair. 
His coolness was so remarkable that Constance 
looked at him, and sat down with the sensation of 
being in the presence of a stranger, bearing a strong 
personal likeness to her husband. She still 
held the book in her hand, but she opened and shut 
its pages, and leaned upon it, unconscious of its 
assistance to her. 

‘‘I have been anxious to see you, Gilbert, ever 
since this morning. You told me once that you 
never went without me — ” 

“Well, I told you a lie,” he interrupted her. “I 
go there when I feel like it.” He looked at his wife. 
She had flushed crimson. Her eyes vrere downcast. 
“Now you are jealous.” His tone was curious. 
“Now, j^^ou will admit that you suspect the worst 
possible.” 

She murmured a dissent. 

“What! you are not jealous of me? Will you 
Idndly then explain your manner this morning when 
you entered her room? You were ghastly, speech- 
less with horror and amazement.” 

Constance raised her eyes. 

“You are mistaken, Gilbert, entirely mistaken. I 
felt so hurt, you could leave me, anxious and igno- 


DIVORCE. 


371 


rant of your intentions, and go to another woman 
and enjoy her society without a thought of me. It 
was a terrible truth to realize ; but I do not feel any 
jealousy of Mrs. Whiting.” 

‘‘What prompted your question, then— ‘if I went 
there alone?’ ” 

“ Because it has been noticed, perhaps commented 
upon. Gilbert, will you not think of yourself — of 
me — if you do not care for her reputation?” 

Another burning flush pained her. 

“And you are not jealous? You flatter yourself 
that no woman could win my affection from 
you—” 

“I do not believe that Mrs. W’hiting could.” 

“Then, if I told you that I had ceased to love 
you, and had found her to be the very woman whose 
temperament and ideas suited mine, you would scoff 
at the declaration.” 

“I should say that you had never loved me, and 
were utterly incapable of loving anybody — except 
yourself.” 

“Then you would be exactly right ; in fact you 
are so. I accept your summing up of my character. 
Y"ou have studied me to som^ account. It will be 
easy now to say what I have on my mind. I want 
you to agree to a separation, perhaps a divorce.” 


372 


DIVORCE. 


Constance sprang to lier feet, lier eyes flasMng. 

“Gilbert!” p 

He motioned her from him, eyeing her coldly. 

“No emotion, I beg o^yon. Control yourself. 
Let us discuss this matter Coolly. - 

“You cannot mean it,” she gasped; “you are only 
trying me. Oh, Gilbert! don’t joke on such a sub- 
ject; it is not right.” 

“ But I am not joking. Sit down and listen to 
me. I never was more serious in my life. Perhaps 
I had better wait a few days. You can think over 
the last two years. You will find that my course 
has been thotoughly systematic and directed toward 
this end.” 

He walked back and forth, watching her. 

Constance sat down and put her hands over her 
face. After some minutes she withdrew them and 
turned it, white and drawn, toward her husband. 
Her voice was firm and intense with suppressed 
feeling. 

“If you are serious, finish now. Separate! Get 
a divorce! It is like a dream. What is wrong 
between us? What have I done, Gilbert? what 
have r done ?” 

“Nothing — I accuse you of nothing. If you will 
attend to me you will see that I have thought of 


DIVOKCE. 


373 


your interests as well as, if not more, than my 
own — ^ 

“ My interests ! ” 

Her voice was scornful Vitli incredulity. 

‘‘Yes. Consider all the facts ; look at the case as 
it stands. You shiver at the sound of the word 
‘separate.’ For God’s sake, could we be any more 
separated than we are — than we have been for tv o 
years?” 

“Whose fault is that, Gilbert?” 

“Mine, you will say, because you love me. I can 
do as I wdll with you ; but in reality, it is the fault 
of our natures — our temperaments. You are loo 
good for me. We haven’t an idea, an inclination or 
a passion in common. I’m sick and tired of seem- 
ing to live up to a standard that is entirely beyond 
my reach and my desire. We make each other 
miserable ! I can’t pull you down, and for ten years 
you have been exhausting yourself in vain efforts 
to raise me to your level. The thing must end ! As 
you say, ‘I love myself;’ still I’m not so hardened 
as not to feel very much ashamed of worrying you 
with my differences in every way. But the sooner 
this hypocrisy is over the better for both of us. 
I’ve been paving the way to it for some time. Your 
brothers can easily get you a divorce. I have wasted 


374 


DIVORCE. 


your money ; I do not support you ; they can add 
any other charges they please ; I will not put in any 
defense. They will take care of you and your child- 
ren, which is more than I can do ; they offered that, 
and no doubt they meant me to take the hint and 
withdraw. It is the best thing, and the only thing 
to do.” 

‘‘So then you believe in breaking solemn vows?” 

“I do, when it is impossible to keep them. 
Divorce is as old as Moses. Milton believed in it. 
I could quote — ” 

“Oh, don’t go beyond ourselves to discuss the 
question. Divorce for us is the thing to consider; 
we live under other laws, in different surroundings. 
I don’t care what Milton thought, we are quite 
capable of thinking for ourselves. You must look 
at my side as well as your own, Gilbert, and then 
you must consider the children’s — ” 

“I just told you that your interest was paramount 
to my own. I can’t take care of you, and you have 
a wealthy set of relatives who can.” 

“So, then, it is poverty, not want of love that is 
to divorce us?” 

“ "Well, we can’t live on one-sided love. Of course 
if you had an inexhaustible income — ” 

“ Then you would stay with me?” 


DIVORCE. 


375 


“Very likely. I did think you would have more"^ 
than you got from your father when I married 


you— 


“Gilbert, will you destroy every illusion?” 
“I want you to set us both free.” 


“And if I refuse — ” 


“You will force me into extreme measures. I 
tell you I have already given you sufficient cause. 
Do the thing quietly, and there need be no scandal.” 

Constance stood up, looking steadily at her hus- 
band, as he came to ward her in his monotonous 
walk. His eyes were wicked, a dull-reddish light 
burned in them. He would have passed her — but 
she put her hand on his arm, and spoke firmly: 

“Gilbert, this is all wrong — You can not mean 
what you say. I will not believe you — ” 

“ I do mean it ! See here — if you will madden 
me — ” He caught her arm in his powerful grasp 
and hissed the words into her ear. “ Do you want 
me to come home drunk to you ? I can if you 
insist upon having it so — Do you Tvant me to 
beat you, — to make a public show of ourselves— I 
tell you, you shall do as I want you to — ! You 



shall!” 

“ I will not — ” The cool decision in her voice 
and eyes made him lose all control of himself. He 


376 


DIVORCE. 


muttered an oatli and suddenly raised his arm, but 
instead of shrinking from him, Constance threw 
herself on his breast and clung to him. Her touch 
made him tremble. 

“ Don’t — don’t disgrace yourself,” she whispered. 
It would do no good — no good — You have hurt 
me already more than blows could ! You can not 
force me into doing wrong by ill-usage. I will 
neither consent to divorce, nor get a divorce from 
you. As long as I live I shall be your wife and the 
honest mother of my children ! Gilbert— let us 
forget all these troubles — If I have offended 
you, forgive me — I remember nothing against 
you — Every night, when I say my prayers — I 
forgive you — I feel sorry for any ill feeling that I 
may have had about you through the day. Is love 
valueless ? Who in all the world cares for you as 
I do — for your honor — your happiness — !” 

“No one, no one! but your love, I tell you, is 
thrown away! I don’t want it — I don’t need it.” 

“ You are under some wicked influence — Gil- 
bert. You can not put me from you! You do 
need me — you are forgetting your vows — your 
duties — You dare not do such a thing as you 
propose !” 

“ You do not know me,” he said coldly. His 


DIVORCE. 


377 


arms Imng at liis sides, lie looked down at her 
almost contemptuously. “I gave you credit for 
possessing some pride. You can’t frighten me with 
old exploded theories of marriage vows and duties. 
I’ve tried all your guides to happiness — they may 
satisfy women — women with unlimited powers of 
credulity, but you can not impose them uppn sen- 
sible men. All this religious nonsense that you 
find so much comfort in, is to me a mere farce, 
gotten up to supply women with an object in life, 
and keep them out of mischief. It has answered 
the purpose very well, but it is getting out of date. 
tJEducation is freeing women from bondag^ as well 
as men. Expediency is the new morality. You 
and I have tried marriage for ten. years, and it is a 
dead failure. Now let us seek some better method. 
We ought to enjoy life. It is too short to spend in 
a round of , hard duties that yield no pleasures. 
Take my advice and follow my example. There are 
men who can appreciate women like you.” 

“ Gilbert — are you mad ?” He shrank before her 
eyes. 

“ I think I am very honest with you, «and sensible. 
You can chain me here if you like ; but claiming 
the letter of a thing, when the spirit is all wanting, 


378 


DIVOBCE. 


is not very satisfactory. I tlionglit yon had about 
enough of it.” • 

“ I must save you from yourself !” she said pas- 
sionately. “ I must, I must ! I can bear anything 
but that — I have borne so much. But to see you 
fall — Oh, Gilbert — I could not bear that ! Tell 
me what to say that will touch you ! I can not 
argue — ^besides you know better than I do what I 
would say — Gilbert, when you took me from my 
father you promised to take care of me while life 
lasted — ” 

‘‘ I can not do it — ” he said impatiently. 

“ But I am your wife — there is something in the 
tie that unites us, that you and I cannot break — I 
know it, I feel it. It would be the same— even if 
we had no children — If we separate, I shall 
always believe myself your wife in God’s sight — 
always believe that you belong to me — no separa- 
tion can divide us. The idea is shocking, terrible 
to me !” 

He took her arms from around his neck and put 
her in a chair, then he resumed his monotonous 
walk. Constance watched his face. His anger 
was over — he was as cold and hard as marble. 

“ You are a very ^strange woman,” he said after 
some time. “ I can not get rid of you unless I 


DIYORCE. 


37 ^ 


kill your love — and that seems to be impossible.” 

“And if you did — still I would have my duty to 
consider — I can not forget that — neither can I 
shut my eyes to what I owe my children. You can 
not break up the work of years to gratify a wicked 
impulse, a sudden passion. You told me that you 
loved me, I gave you all I had — with all my 
heart — 

“ I don’t deny it.” 

“ And after accepting all — can you put me from 
you without cause ! It is im]Dossible ! Am I 
worthless now ! Have I no rights as a wife, as a 
mother ?” 

“ Your Uncle is a lawyer — he can tell you what 
your rights are.” 

“ I am talking of what is due to me from you. 
Having made me a part of yourself, it seems to me 
that you should treat me as you would yourself— 
with consideration, with honesty, with common 
justice, with all honor.” 

“ You have novel ideas,” he sneered. 

“ You just told me that this was the age of new 
ideas. If I have failed in my duty, tell me how ? 
I am ready and willing to please you and serve you 
in every honorable way. If I have lived up to my 
vows, I claim that you should do the same. Mod- 



380 


DIVOECE. 


ern tliinkers insist upon tlie practice of pure mor- 
ality as a sign of progress. If your strength lies in 
yourself, this is a test of its powers. Control the 
evil passion, and do what is consistent with your 
creed.” 

“ I don’t think we are living morally now- -I 
don’t fulfill one of my duties, and you affect a 
happiness that you do not feel. Each makes a 
hypocrite of the other.” 

“But you could, if you chose, make my happi- 
ness real.” 

“ The best thing you can do is to think the mat- 
ter over by yourself. You are too much excited 
now to see it in its true light. We take opposite 
views of marriage. It doesn’t hold for me the 
sanctity that you ascribe to it. It is merely a con- 
tract and it should cease when its terms can not be 
carried out.” 

Constance sat still for some minutes. Desperate 
ideas of action flashed through her brain. She 
would go to Mrs. "Whiting and beg of her to use 
her influence with her husband — she would go on 
her knees to the woman, if that would save 

Gilbert — She would take her children and go 

where ? She grew cold with dread. 

“You are wrong,” she said bitterly. “ Marriage 


DIYOBCE. 


381 


is exactly wliat I understood it to be wliei^ 1 prom- 
ised to live with you until Death parted us. If 
you could leave me as you took me, it mi^ht be a 
contract as you call it. But life is /*ompletely 
changed for me — I have children- -they are yours, 
we brought them into the world. Ycc cannot for- 
sake them, you cannot leave all the care and re- 
sponsibility to me. You must share it !” 

“Practically, I do not, I never did. B is a chi- 
mera of the brain. If I were dead you would have 
to do what I ask of you now. Y/ithout me, you 
and they will be better off, much better off.” 

“It seems to me that the men who murdered their 
wives when they grew tired of them were merciful 
compared with you — ” 

“ Oh, pshaw ! This is the ninteenth century. We 
stand equal now and individual. If you wanted to 
be free you could get rid of me easily. The law 
knoAVS no difference between men and women. 
There are modern remedies for the troubles that af- 
flict human nature.” 

“But human nature has not changed — ” 

“ Certainly not in your case — You talk like a 
woman of the feudal ages. You are Avilling to be 
the slave of a man Avho has ceased to love you — 
You can bear anything but separation.” 


382 


DIVQECE. 


“It is true that I love you — that I cannot prevent 
myself hoping for you — - But it is terrible to see 
human nature in ruins ! I cannot believe that you 
are as utterly bad as you are representing yourself 
— Gilbert, you cannot have lost all feeling for me — ” 

She stood up and put her hands on his, but she 
might as well have caressed a granite figure. Then 
her brain felt on fire — she found herself walking rap- 
idly to and fro through the rooms — out in the hall 
— trying to open the street door. It was locked 
and bolted, her hands trembled on it. 

“Where are you going?” Mr. Travers put his 
hand on the door. 

“Anywhere! Let me go — please — let me go 
away !” 

He started at the agony in her face when she 
raised it to his. 

“Not by yourself — if you want to walk I will go 
with you.” 

“No, no! alone — I want to be alone — she mur- 
mured despairingly. 

“ I can’t let you go alone — ” he said decidedly, 
taking her hands off the door. Then she moaned, 
staggered and knew nothing. 

When she came to herself she was lying on the 
lounge in the sitting room — Her hair was damp — 


DIVORCE. 


383 


her clothes were loosened — she felt a cold hand on 
her forehead. She turned her eyes. Mr. Travers 
*vvas sitting near her bathing her head. He looked 
anxious — even alarmed, and meeting her glance, he 
started and spoke hurriedly, nervously. 

“Are you better now, Constance? You fright- 
ened me.” He took her hand and spoke gently. “I 
didn’t -mean to hurt you so terribly. I didn’t think 
you cared so much for me! I am sorry about the 
whole thing. Come be a good little girl and forget 
it all. It was foolish, cruel — useless 1 ” 

Constance watched him — after some time, she 
spoke faintly— longingly — her eyes were misty,, 
yearning. 

“ Gilbert — you do love me — ” 

“Not as you deserve — If there is any good in 
me, you reach it — but it is worthless, I think, when 
found.” 

She put her arm around his neck— her eyes filled. 
“ I wish vou would take me in your arms and kiss 

me.” • 

“No, no! I can’t now — I am not fit. You must 

■w^ait give me time.” His voice was hoarse and 

broken, his eyes fell before hers. 

“But we are to be happy again— We are going 


384 


DIVORCE. 


to try to do right,” she murmured. “We were so 
happy once ! ” 

“Don’t ask for promises — If you think you can 
sleep I will leave you — You are exhausted.” 

“Well—” she drew his hand to her breast and 
looked up in his eyes. “I think the worst is over 
— Gilbert — we were growing away from each other 
— After this — ” 

“Yes — you must have patience.” He looked fix- 
edly at her, pressed her hands in his, kissed them 
reverently, and then left the room. After some 
time she heard him go out. She felt too weak to 
move and for hours she lay quiet, thinking. Think- 
ing over the past was not soothing — she tried to 
read the future and fell asleep in the effort. 

The next morning, nerved and upheld by hope 
and faith, Constance overcame physical weakness, 
and again took up her many duties. Gilbert was 
polite but embarrassed, acting more like a stranger 
than an indifferent husband. In their few short, 
daily interviews his manner perplexed Constance. 
If her feelings had not been so completely absorbed 
by him she would have thought him a wonderful 
study in human nature. 


XXII. 


Constance was planning a pleasant celebration of 
her wedding-day, but about a week before the anni- 
versary, Mr. Travers came home one afternoon hur- 
ried and excited. He was going up East on busi- 
ness. He was going to visit the ‘paper-mills where 
he was known to the proprietors and seek for em- 
ployment of some kind. He wanted his valise and 
his clothes. Constance helped him silently, she 
could not tell whether she was most pleased or 
sorry. She was not to be worried if she did not 
hear from him regularly, he would be going too rap- 
ly from place to place to write often. She was to 
make herself as happy as possible, and as to money 
— well, he would write about it as soon as he saw a 
prospect of sending her some. He talked while he 
was getting ready to go, and before Constance quite 
realized the whole situation he had finished his prep- 
arations, kissed her and the children — carelessly — 


385 


386 


MVORCE. 


and was gone. Constance tried to follow his instruc- 
tions, and she gathered much hope and encourage- 
ment from the fact that he was again anxious and 
willing to work. Separation could be borne more 
easily when caused by good motives. 

The cottage was rented, Constance found her city 
home quite charming, and the summer glided b}^ 
without any special incident marking it. Gilbert’s 
absence was an ever-present fact, but his wife alone 
felt its necessity, keenly. His letters were kind and 
amusing, but generally indefinite. He appeared to 
travel constantly from State to State, and Constance 
kept a map on her work table, and traced his jour- 
neys by the post marks on his letters. She forgot 
that he had ever made her suffer. It was over, and 
he was trying to redeem the past. She would work 
with him. To that end she grew cheerful — even 
gay, she kept a kind of diary in which she wrote 
unreservedly her hopes and ideas about him and 
the children, and once a week she sent him the 
pages. They contained her mind. He was neither 
confidential,' nor even sympathetic in return, but 
she understood him. He wanted to earn the right 
to his old place in her heart. He would not accept 
what was his own until he deserved it. 


DIVORCE. 


387 


One day in August Florence found her at the 
piano. 

“These are all songs,” she said, turning over the 
pieces. 

“Yes — Gilbert’s. Do you know, Florence, you 
can live over life by playing old music.” 

“The inner life — yes. But the practical present 
will push it aside. Constance — I’m in a quandary 
about pupils. I have no engagement whatever for 
this fall. I’ve tried everything, too. Experience 
and will wont always bring work.” 

Constance turned from the piano to listen to Flor- 
ence, and as she did so her own money problems, 
rose in their might to perplex her. Her husband 
had not, as yet, sent her any money, but she had 
been accomplishing marvels in the way of economy. 
That night while lying awake, Constance had an in- 
spiration, and the next day she took Florence into 
her confidence. Florence was amazed and skeptical, 
but Constance was sanguine and thoroughly in 
earnest. 

“We both need money,” she urged, “and we are 
willing to work for it. Now, we shall see if people 
mean all they profess.” 

As her friends returned from the country, Con- 
stance went to see them, and courageously told 


388 


DIVORCE. 


them that she intended to open a school for little 
children, and asked them to assist her in getting 
pupils. She found helpers everywhere. Gilbert 
did not oppose her project, her own family assisted 
her, and kept their opinions to themselves, and 
Mrs. Sedley and Mrs. Marchant sent her so many 
scholars that she and Florence opened their school 
under the most encouraging circumstances. 

“You have everything to favor you, Constance,” 
Cora said, enthusiastically. “ The neighborhood is 
good, your house is large and healthy, and every- 
one knows that you are devoted to children ; and 
then, Florence is so much liked, why, people feel 
that their children are perfectly safe with you.” 

It w'as all strange — wonderful! Constance was 
too happy and excited to realize the strain on her 
nerves, or the amount of effort and vitality that 
each day co^ her. By degrees she felt that what 
she had undertaken was difficult and very exhaust- 
ing. But, if it occupied her from eight o’clock in 
the morning, until two in the afternoon, if it left her 
nervous and tired, it brought with it many wondrous 
blessings. The charm of money, honestly earned, 
repaid her for all her efforts, and the children loved 
her. Bertie and Jessie were in the school-rooms, 
and she had her little boys to comfort her when the 


DIYOECE. 


389 


labor of the day was over. Life was now full of 
exertion, of responsibility, but the knowledge that 
she was helping her husband in his efforts to get 
out of debt sustained her and made the task an of- 
fering of love and free choice. 

There- was no prospect of Mr. Travers’ return to 
the city. Constance kept her days for her labor 
and her evenings for her little ones. She was never 
idle, never depressed, she was even happy. She did 
not feel the changes in her circumstances, that her 
friends so deeply deplored and pitied. She felt 
lighter-hearted than she had for years. She knew 
where money was to come from and to what it 
amounted, and she had her domestic expenses sys- 
tematized. The old sense of honest independence 
was very sweet. 

The fall passed, winter set in. Constance was 
neither glad nor sorry, when Cora told her that 
Maude had gone to "Washington, for a long visit. 
In January Mr. Travers wrote his wife a kind, earn- 
est letter. He wanted money to start in business, 
and he gave her a detailed account of the prospects 
of success. The chances were too good to give up. 
She was to raise the money by putting a second 
mortgage on the house, and he advised her to let 
Mr. Lacy attend to it for her. Constance did it 


390 


DIVORCE. 


without dela}^ and without a misgiving. She longed 
to see Gilbert, but his reason for not visiting New 
York was too sensible to be argued against. He 
was busy, and he did not care to risk the infatua- 
tion of its assocations. Knowing that he could car- 
ry through anything that he undertook, whether to 
failure or success, Constance trusted and waited — 
worked and hoped. 

Her school still increased. She had turned the 
whole second floor into its service, finding room a 
great advantage. Winter passed and spring. Va- 
cation came. Gilbert had been gone a whole year. 
His letters were less frequent now — Constance de- 
bated about going to him. It would be an expen- 
sive trip, and when she consulted him about it, he 
dissuaded her from it. He had no proper place to 
receive her in, and as soon as he could leave his 
business for a few days he would come to her. This 
hope kept her anxious and expectant until August 
was past, and then the necessity for attending to 
her preparations for re-opening her school began to 
occupy her attention. There were circulars to be 
printed and distributed, new' desks to be bought, 
and alterations to be made in the arrangement of 
the classes. Florence returned from her country 
tpp in full armor for the coming year, vigorous, 


DIVORCE. 


391 


hopeful and cheerful, and the two friends set about 
their work together. 

September came and went and brought no Gil- 
bert. But the school was flourishing. Constance 
weighed her blessings and found that they more 
than balanced her troubles. October came. 

One Friday afternoon she was alone in the house. 
Kate had gone out, a rare occurrence, and Bertie 
had taken the children to see the old lady, now too 
feeble to leave her room. Constance was enjoying 
the quiet solitude. She had a quantity of flowers 
to arrange, gorgeous fall blossoms which the child- 
ren daily brought to decorate her table, and she had 
taken them down to the library where the heavy 
perfume of the tube roses was less oppressive than 
in the upper rooms. 

She was physically stronger than ever, and the 
fact showed in her appearance, her eyes were 
bright, her step was firm and elastic as she went 
from table to mantelpiece. She was prettily dressed. 
Constance had long since learned the amount of 
ideality existing in baby minds. She often felt 
amused at the bright glances that comprehended 
anything new and attractive in her dress, her orna- 
ments, or the arrangement of her hair. To-day, 
her black silk was set off with pretty lace ruchings 


392 


DIVORCE. 


at her neck and wrists, and she had her fair hair in 
becoming puffs and fluffy little curls that shadowed 
her forehead. Suddenly, she felt that she was not 
alone, and she turned quickly from the library table 
and looked toward the large parlor. Mr. Travers 
was standing just within the door opening from the 
hall. How long had he been watching her ? Her 
heart jumped, she held out her hands, her voice 
died in her throat. She went toward him — her eyes 
shining, tremulous with delight. He put his arm 
out with a strange gesture, his cold voice stopped 
her half-way, his glance was chilling. 

“ I came here on business — entirely on a matter 
of business — ” he said with an effort, taking a bundle 
of papers out of his pocket as he spoke and putting 
it on a table. “I have done the best possible thing 
for both of us. That is a decree of divorce between 
us. It is all perfectly regular and valid. Mr. Lacy 
will explain it to you. We are both free — free to 
form new and happier ties. I — I am glad to see 
you looking so well — I hope you will take this 
quietly and sensibly. We have talked it over — it is 
useless to go back to the subject. I will never in- 
terfere with you in any way. You can keep the 
children. At present, I cannot support them, but 


DIVOECE. 


393 


in the future I may be able to help you in that 
way.” 

Constance stood silent — paralyzed — her eyes were 
flashing the indignant protest that her lips could 
not utter. 

“It is impossible — impossible!” she gasped when 
he stopped and turned away. “You could not do 
it 1” 

“It is all done — and done legally. We are 
strangers now — and I think, I am sure that you will 
live to thank me for it. Look at the facts. It is 
sixteen months since you saw me, you must have 
realized by this time that your happiness does not 
depend upon me, in fact, I made your life miser- 
able.” 

There was no answer, Constance simply looked at 
him. He waited a few moments, then he put the 
latch key on the table near the papers and went 
away. Constance sat down then and held her head 
in her hands. She was trembling from head to 
foot, her heart felt like a stone in her breast, her 
tongue and lips were hot and parched. It must be 
a dream! No, there were the papers. A divorce! 
So then after all it had come to her — this cruel 
power of divorce. She had tried so hard, so consci- 
entiously to do right, and this was her reward 1 


394 


DIVORCE. 


The worst woman who disgraced her sex could have 


nothing more merciless done to her. And Gilbert 
had done it, but he said that it was legal. Legal ! 
How could it be legal ? she had transgressed no 
law ! What was justice ? It was all a terrible 



wTong ! A mistake ! A woman could not be 
divorced when she had done nothing to deserve it — 
and without knowing anything about it ! She be- 
gan to recall her slight knowledge of divorce laws, 
but it was limited to Mrs. Whiting’s case, and that 
had no bearing on hers. She felt outraged — indig- 
nant, defiant. It was too wicked to be possible. 
Her heart swelled, she cried passionately. Then 
the sight of the key next to the papers inclined her 
to laugh. Was she going mad ? She began to feel 
frightened. Loneliness took a new sensation. Her 
husband was alive — well, how well he had looked ! 
and he was nothing to her — they were strangers. 
Her brain rejected any such legal farce as that. 
God’s laws were still the stronger; human power 
could not set them aside. She read her husband’s 
character more clearly than ever ; to herself she did 
not hesitate to admit that he was selfish, cowardly 
and dishonorable, but such as he was, she had mar- 
ried him, the vow was plain — “ For better, for 


worse,” and she must abide by her own decision. 


DIVORCE. 


395 


A burst of cliildish laughter broke the silence. The 
children arrived to end her wild questioning of 
right and might. Bertie looked fixedly at her and 
then put his arms around her neck. He had 
recently assumed the position of her protector. ' 

‘‘Mama, what hurts you ? something does; you 
don’t look like you did when we went out.” 

“I know it, pet,” her lips quivered. Her great 
ten-year-old boy had inherited her intuitive sym- 
pathy. “ I want you to go to Uncle Frank and ask 
him if he will come and see me this evening.” 

Bertie was off like a fiash. When he returned tea 
was ready, the children ate and recounted their 
day’s incidents, and laughed — the sound made Con- 
stance shiver — their laughter had never sounded so 
loud and gleeful, she thought, as to-night. She put 
them to bed and kissed them — she had kissed them 
for papa ever since he had given up their good- 
night kiss. 

“I want papa’s kiss !” cried Johnny, as she was 
turning away from his crib. So she went through 
with it. “ My God,” she thought, “what a farce I 
have been keeping up !” 

When they were asleep she went down to the 
library. Mr. Lacy found her alone, very quiet, but 
white and stern looking, with her desperate effort 


396 


DIVOKCE. 


for self-control. Slie had so much now to think of. 
She let him in, took him into the jDarlor and pointed 
to the nntouched papers. Her face recalled his old 
prophecy of the crushed rose. 

“ Uncle Frank, can a man divorce his wife with- 
out any cause?” 

Mr. Lacy started, glanced at her and then at the 
bundle. 

“ Gilbert says that he has divorced me — ” 

“ One moment, let me look at these papers — ” 

“ But answer me — can such a thing be done ? leg- 
ally, I mean, he said it was legal — all regular and 
valid.” 

“Yes, it can, if a man is scoundrel enough to go 
about it in the right way — and I think — Constance 
how long has he been away from you?” 

“Sixteen months — ” 

“ Sit down my child, and let me understand the 
thing clearly. He’s been in business, hasn’t he, in 
Hartford?” 

“ So he wrote—” She suddenly reached a mental 
conclusion which her uncle understood. 

Mr. Lacy went over the papers with a rapidity 
that surprised Constance. After some minutes, he 
^ut them down, looked at her, stood up and began 
walking slowly through the rooms. 


DIVOKCE. 


397 


“ Uncle Frank you miglit tell me — ” 

‘‘ Well, that is all legal, Travers is clever, he has 
taken advantage of what is a disgrace to the United 
States, its want of uniform divorce laws. He has 
lived for over a year in Connecticut, and he has 
complied with all that the law there demands.” 

“ But I didn’t know — ” 

‘‘ He didn’t want you to know. He published the 
notices in an obscure country newspaper .Thfe thing 
is ^ohe^very day, dear, East and West. He could 
get this easier in Connecticut than in any other 
State. They have what is called the “ omnibus 
clause,” in one of their statutes. It covers the lack 
of any real cause for divorce. It allows divorce for 
‘ any such misconduct as permanently destroys the 
happiness of the petitioner and defeats the purposes 
of the conjugal relation.’ I see, Travers has ob- 
tained this on the ground of ^ Incompatibility of 
temper.’ Is it possible that you had no suspicion 
as to what he was about ?” 

“ Could I have lived and worked as I have done, 
if I had!” 

“That is so. I didn’t know but what he might 
have broached the subject in some way.” Constance 
flushed. 


/ 



“ He did, not long before be went away, but he 
asked me to get a divorce from him.” 

“ And you refused, of course.” 

‘‘ Why, I didn’t want a divorce from him. He said 
he had given me cause, he meant that he hadn’t 
supported me.” 

‘‘ I understand. He gave you a chance to take 
the initiative.” 

“But I didn’t believe. I never even imagined 
that he could do this. I thought that so long as I 
tried to do right, the law would at least protect me. 
I don’t think that I even brought law into my reas- 
oning. I felt that I loved my husband, that I was 
willing to please him in every w^ay, to work for him, 
his misfortunes did not alter my feeling for him, and 
I supposed that under such circumstances I was his 
wife, that there could be no disputing the fact. I 
assumed that I was protected, defended. It was a 
mistake. I cannot understand such a law as he has 
taken advantage of — it is too unjust ! Have I no 
redress ?” 

“Well — I’ll tell you the whole truth in a few 
words. There are lawyers who Avill tell you that 
you are still Mrs. Travers, and that this divorce is 
invalid in this State. It is not so. This divorce is 
valid in every State in the Union until it is sei^ 


DIVOECE. 


^ ' 399 


aside. I’ll tell you why. Each State is obliged to 
give full faith and credit to the judicial proceedings 
of every other State, otherwise there would be end- 
less complications in all matters. You can go to 
Connecticut and have this case re-opened — and 
then it remains to be seen whether you will gain 
the suit. I suppose that will be your brothers’ 
advice. There is no use in avoiding looking at the 
case as it stands. You are a -New Yorker — you 
married in your own State, and it so happens that 
here the laws governing divorce are not only strict 
but are in agreement with the views that the Church 
takes of marriage. You married as a Christian. 
You never thought of law. You’ve kept your mar- 
riage vows, and in spite of all you are legally di- 
vorced. You see that this is legal but unchristian 
divorce. The Church and State are at variance. 
You are married by one power and divorced by the 
other. The Church says marriage is sacred and 
indissoluble, the law says it is a mere contract and ~ 
can be broken. My own idea is this, that each 
authority should have power over its own acts. If 
you as a Christian are married by a priest and you 
perform your vows faithfully, only the Church , 
should have the right to dissolve your marriage. 

If you go to a magistrate it is a civil contract and j 


400 


DIVORCE. 


the Law can break it. You see, dear, marriage 
depends for its security upon the morality of the 
parties agreeing together. It’s spirit is beyond all 
law. When the spirit is all gone, and nothing left 
but the letter, law is used to prevent misery — per- 
haps crime, in separating persons who are chained 
together. I cannot advise you, Constance ; you have 
been outrageously treated ; I never heard of any- 
thing like this ! never ! But you don’t care to hear 
me talk against your — Travers.” 

“It would do no good. I made myself an idol, 
and worshipped it. My imagination assisted my 
desires. I had hope.” 

“ That may be, and yet, my girl, you could not 
have done less than you did, and done your whole 
duty. You’ve struggled bravely; you did all that 
a woman could do to save a man’s soul; but (he 
odds were against you ! It was a hopeless fight. 
That woman could outwit a dozen like you.” 

“I don’t blame her so much. The struggle. was 
in Gilbert’s double nature. He never undervalued 
me, although he has thrown me aside for her. Life 
is a terrible gift. Uncle Frank. It is so hard to 
know how best to use it. If I can only see what is 
right, and do it, he will not lose faith in me. I may 
save him yet.” 


DIVOECE. 


401 


‘‘My darling, is that your hope?” He shook his 
head. 

“ But you see, he is their father ; I can’t put him 
out 'tef my life ; I see him every day in them ! If 
he were dead I couldn’t forget him; living, he is 
never entirely away from me. You see he has 
deserted me, but not until he had made my life 
different, and its duties very clear to me. I gave it 
out of my own hands. Uncle Frank, into liis ! He 
was not worthy of it ; but the thing is done now ! 
Divorce doesn’t alter my conscience, nor destroy my 
children. I must live for them.” 

•‘That is right — they are good children — they will 
repay you. Why, my child, you have long, happy 
years before you, yet. Let me see — ” 

“It is a story of twelve 'years. Uncle Frank. I 
met Gilbert twelve years ago, this month. I have 
a good memory, I can not forget anything.” 

“Perhaps it would be better to put it from you. 
You have a strong will — there is a great deal to be 
done. The first thing, is to think calmly over this 
matter and come to a decision about it. Perhaps 
you ought to consult with your brothers at once — 
“ I don’t know that it would do any good. They 
do not understand the law on the subject. I don’t 
think that I could listen to their criticisms on Gil- 


402 


DIVOKCE. 


bert. Law is a poor resource, I tliink. My' own 
State does not protect me — I must go to another to 
get justice in a woman’s most sacred rights.” 

“Yes, you have to follow up this suit where it 
was tried. You may win, Constance— you may suc- 
ceed in proving that Travers had no cause for divorce 
and that you don’t want one. You would keep the 
right to your name — ” 

“An empty title! If a manor a woman is 
tempted to do a great wrong, the law offers every 
possible facility to do it, legally.” 

“Yes, it is curious how a legal salve can quiet the 
conscience.” 

“I suppose Gilbert can marry her now — ” 

“Yes, that will be the next act in the drama, or 
tragedy.” 

“ It is a moral tragedy. All the law in the world 
could not convince me that I am not his wife. I 
won’t meddle with human laws. To contest this is 
to admit its validity. I will not do it 1 I profess 
Christianity ; I’ll try and live up to my profession. 
You will understand me — you are a Christian.” 

“The Church will uphold you, Constance.” 

“I married believing in divine law — I tried to live 
up to its teachings — I will go on by it. In God’s 
sight I am still his wife. I never, forfeited my claim 


DIYOliCE. 


403 


on liim. I must be able to account to my children 
for their existence. I must live so as to be justified 
in their sight — ” 

Mr. Lacy watched her with admiration as she 
walked to and fro through the rooms. Her head 
was erect, her eyes were brilliant, she had a bright 
color on her cheeks, her whole expression was that 
of resolution. The woman was far exceeding his 
expectations of the girl. He appreciated and sym- 
pathized, but he turned his face from her and folded 
up the papers. It was hard to see such a woman in 
such a position. 

“I’ll take these and go up to Hartford on Mon- 
day. I’ll look up the whole thing and see if it is as 
complete as it appears.” 

She did not answer him. After some time she 
sat down, and leaned on the table, speaking 
thoughtfully: 

“ Ho you think I’ll lose my pupils when this is 
known? I must explain my position, and some 
people may not understand me.” 

“You never can count upon people — that is true. 
I suppose you must make the experiment, dear — 
unless — ” 

“ Unless, what — ? ” 

“Will it be necessary for you to teach?” 


404 


DIYOECE. 


“I’ll have to do something. I don’t want to ask 
for help, if I can possibly avoid it. But everything 
is gone — the cottage is mortgaged — you know about 
.this house — I wish I could keep it. Perhaps I 
^ could rent a part of it.” 

“Well, when I come back — we’ll attend to every- 
thing together. You’ll let me help you, child, if it 
necessary.” 

“Yes — I think I would rather be under a favor to 
I you than to any one else in the world, but you must 
I assist me to be independent. I’ve grown ambitious 
i in this last year. Grandma says, I’m my father’s 

I cMld.” 

I “You’ve been learning to stand alone. . It is a dif- 
ficult, hard lesson — particularly for a woman. The 
thing is to set about it in the right spirit.” He 
held her hands and bent to kiss them. “I do’nt 
like leaving you alone, dear.” 

’ It is another lesson — Uncle Frank.” 


XXIII. 


So Constance is a problem — a study — a topic for 
discussion when women’s rights and wrongs are 
made the subject of conversation. No two persons 
agree as to what she should have done or ought to 
do, but all agree to love and honor her. She keeps 
her pupils. There are women who understand and 
appreciate her ideas and motives, and join to help 
her in her continuous struggle. 

Mr. Travers is married to Mrs. Maude Leavitt. 
They reside in another State, but Constance often 
hears of their visits to New York ; she has even seen 
them together on the street. 

It is natural for her to feel a thorough contempF 
for certain laws and the Legislators — husbands and 
fathers no doubt — who passed them. Human nature 
still baffles her. 

‘‘ It is curious what different views people take of 
marriage,” Mrs. Marchant said to her husband, one 



406 


DIYORCE. 


r evening lately, after leaving Constance. Constance 

is a tliorongli little Roman Catholic in hers.” 

“ Marriage is a religion to most women, and it has 
its martyrs,” he said, gravely. ‘‘ If she is a con- 
sistent churchwoman, the Chnrch must protect and 
uphold her, and church-members must recognize 
^ her claims as an honest wife and mother.” 

“ They do. Every clergyman who hears of her 
insists that she is Mrs. Travers. So she is. I won- 
der how Mr. Travers likes the change in wives ? He 
has found his match this time ! ” 

“ He likes your sister’s money. I wonder if we’ll 
live to see him get his deserts? I think he is the 
meanest hound in human form that I ever came 
across.” 

“ And yet his fascination of manner is irrisistible.’’ 
“ He is a man without a soul, and his wife appealed 
to what he did not possess. Your sister knows how 
to manage him. I don’t think she’ll waste much 
time on his spiritual advancement. He gave up a 
magnificent woman. It seems hard that she must 
live on without appreciation. Good Heaven ! what 
a state society is in ! ” 

“ How absurdly you men reason ! , You think ap- 
preciation is centred in a husband. You’re mis- 


taken.” 



RD 8. ft < 


DIVORCE. 


407 


‘ I tliink the appreciation that is most precious 
to a woman is decidedly centred in her husband.” 

“How many wives find the treasure where it 
should be ?” 

“ That is another question.” 

“Let me tell you that it takes women to appre- 
ciate women. We know best how women suffer, and 
what they need. Dear me ! how Constance works ! 
Teaching, done conscientiously, as she does it, is 
most exhausting. But she succeeds, and I am posi- 
tive that she is far happier to-day, in spite of the 
hard work and responsibility, than she was while 
living with her husband. He crushed her indivi- 
duality. To-day she has scope for all her powers! 
Her work develops her mind ; her children demand 
her affections, and her troubles call forth her spi- 
ritual aspirations, energies and life. She lives by 
hope and faith.” 

“See here, you’ll make me jealous.” 

“ Oh, pshaw, I never heard of a man that could 
approach a woman when it came to down-right 
self-sacrifice for duty’s sake, or for love ! You have 
your own line of virtues, but I kneel to unselfish- 
ness, and I think men are essentially selfish.” 

“I have nothing to say, except that the type of 
unselfishness was a man.” 


408 


DiyORCE. 


“ But women except his example, and approach 
nearest to it. At any rate Constance is well, happy. 
Maude hasn’t succeeded in breaking her heart, or 
crushing her out of existence.” 

“So your heart is at rest, and yet you’ve lost a 
sister.” 

“ And gained a friend.” 

“ And me. A few words from your friend once 
decided my life, when I was quite determined, much 
as I admired you, never to see you again. Think 
how much I am indebted to her.” 

Cora clasped her hands on his arm, her eyes 
shone through tears. 

“We both owe our happiness to Constance. 
“Wonien unconsciously exert a powerful influence 
upon each other.” 

“Strongly individual and positive natures do 
wield unlimited power, either for good or evil ; but 
I did you the honor of believing you a positive 
character.” 

“ In many ways, perhaps, I am ; but I haven’t 
watched Constance all these years without gaining 
good from her example. She is essentially a woman’s 
woman.” 

“ The peace of God which passeth all understand- 
ing ” is not a figure of speech, nor an imaginary re- 


DIYOECE. 


409 


ward of certain exalted conditions of tlie mind. It 
is as real as donbt, pain, grief, joy or bliss. Con- 
stance possesses it. It makes labor possible, 
trouble tolerable, rest sweet. She seeks it and sbe 
finds it. It came to lier in this way. One day sbe 
was sitting sad and dispirited in ber own room when 
Bertie came in for some of bis playthings. He 
filled bis arms witli them, hesitated, put them on 
the floor, and crossing the room wound bis arms 
around ber neck and looked fixedly in ber face. 

“ Mama, have I annoyed you ?” Sbe kissed him. 

“You never annoyed me in your life,” sbe said 
concisely. 

“ Has Jessie done wrong ?” 

“No dear — ” 

“ Dudley makes a great noise — ” 

“ I don’t mind that. I like to bear him.” 

“ And Johnny didn’t intend to smash the win- 
dow — ” 

“ I know it, the window doesn’t trouble me, Ber- 
tie. It can be mended, you know.”J 

“ Shall I have the pane put in ?” . 

“ Yes, when you are ready.” 

“ I’ll go now.” He went to the door, fingered 
and came back. I wish you wouldn’t look like 


410 


DIVORCE. 


that, Mama, it makes me feel like crying. You 
might laugh or smile.” 

“ Sometimes, Bertie, I can’t laugh.” 

“But you might. Mama, just for me.” He bent 
over her, drew her head on his shoulder and began 
to kiss her eyes and hair. She started, suppressed 
a cry and then sat passive, faint and overwhelmed. 
“ My sails are nearly finished, Kate is hemming 
them for me,” he went on coaxingly. “You said 
you would come to the park when the boat was all 
ready and see her go. Will you come to-day? You 
said the other night that you ought to be happy be- 
cause you had so many blessings.” 

“ Did I say that?” 

“Yes, when we were all in your arms hugging 
you.” 

“And I meant it, Bertie. We’ll go to the park.” 

She smiled at his loud “ Hurrah !” and he ran off 
to get his boat and call the children. They reached 
the lake in the sunset glow. She watched him that 
afternoon with curious feelings, with complex emo- 
tions. He was twelve years old, tall, strong and 
manly beyond his years. As she sat on the bench 
and the children played in front of her, her own 
childhood rose and passed like a series of pictures 
before her. - It had been cloudless. Should she 


DIVORCE. 


411 


darken it for her own little ones because of her hus- 
band’s sin ? The injustice of such an action, became 
clear to her. Her wrongs should not destroy their 
rights. He w^as nothing to them but a memory, 
they seldom spoke of him. She would think of her 
blessings, and the resolution brings peace — even 
‘‘ the peace of God.” 



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